


Under the Impression (I Was Somewhere In-Between)

by serenelystrange



Category: Leverage
Genre: AU, Also a little bit of crack, And angst, But it's to be expected for something based on a disney movie, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other, Tangled AU, Threesome - F/M/M, and coming of age, and coming of...other things, but love prevails, here be fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 11:08:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenelystrange/pseuds/serenelystrange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for thebigbangjob on LJ. Loosely based on "Tangled." Eliot lives under the rule of his mother, who keeps him locked in a tower. When he runs away, his life takes a turn he never saw coming, with a few people he never expected to love. OT3 & E/OMC</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Impression (I Was Somewhere In-Between)

A/N – Based LOOSELY on Disney's “Tangled,” which I suppose is based loosely on “Rapunzel.”

.

.

_Eliot Spencer woke up at seven A.M on the day his life changed forever. Now, this in itself, was not remarkable. He had awoken at seven for as long as he could remember._

_All in all, there was absolutely nothing remarkable or extraordinary about that particular day._

_Until there was._

.

.

Eliot wakes slowly and stretches out his still-sleepy limbs, suppressing a yawn. The sunlight shines too bright in his eyes, so he closes them tightly against the assault. Outside his window, the birds chirp excitedly at the new day, happy to fly.

He envies their freedom.

.

The chores take almost no time at all, much to Eliot's dismay. He dusts the entire tower room, before sweeping and scrubbing the floors. He even takes time to put a fresh coat of paint to the fading mural on his wall.

And then it's nine o'clock.

Sighing, Eliot launches into his usual exercise routine mindlessly, finishing off with a hundred or so push-ups with ease.

He looks at the clock again and it's all of ten o'clock.

He's debating whether or not to sweep the floors again when he hears his name being called.

“Eliot! Eliot, let down your hair!”

“Coming, mother!” he calls, gathering his 50 feet of golden blonde hair and tossing it out of the window, looping it around the hook built into the stone for just this purpose.

Once she assures him that she's wrapped securely, he lifts her slowly but surely, years of practice allowing him to perfect the process.

“Took you long enough, dear,” his mother says, patting him soundly on the cheek as she unravels from the hair.

“Sorry, Mother,” Eliot mumbles, more out of habit than actual guilt.

She looks at him critically for a moment before shrugging and laughing gaily.

“Never mind that, dear. Mother's tired from her journey. Come sit with me; let me brush your hair.”

Eliot catches the sigh in his throat, but barely. Mother, eerily observant, catches the moment of hesitation and calls him on it.

“Do you wish me to be ill, Eliot? Me, the woman who raised you all by myself when your rotten drunkard of a father left us to rot?”

Eliot rolls his eyes at her over dramatic performance but shakes his head.

“Of course not, Mother.”

He takes a moment to look at her, _really_ look at her. She's been gone just under two days, but the physical toll the time has taken is apparent. Tinges of grey pepper her roots, a splash of contrast against her shiny black hair. The corners of her eyes are adorned with little wrinkles, giving her a deceptively warm expression, as if she's spent too much time laughing. The skin under her chin hangs slightly loose, no longer tight with elasticity like it was when she left. Even her posture is off, slightly bent forward where she usually stands so tall.

Yes, Eliot decides, she must be very tired. Of course he'll help her. She's his mother, and he loves her.

.

Eliot sits obediently on the floor, leaning back against Mother's legs after she seats herself in his favorite red chair.  His eyes droop closed as Mother runs the brush through his hair, allowing himself the simple pleasure while it lasts.

Mother humors him for a little while, but grows impatient far too soon.

“Come now, Eliot, Mother's growing weak. Sing for me.”

Eliot leans back, letting Mother pool his hair across her lap and settling her hands beneath it.

He sings.

 _Flower gleam and glow_  
Let your powers shine  
Make the clock reverse  
Bring back what once was mine. 

The words warm his entire body, so hot that it's almost uncomfortable, but he endures. The heat turns to a golden light emitting from his hair and surrounding Mother like a bright blanket. He doesn't open his eyes but he knows what she looks like in this moment. She's glowing, head thrown back with the force of the power. On anybody else, the sight may have been called angelic, but Eliot knows from experience that it only makes his mother look like some sort of ghost, the light washing her skin out so much that she looks eerily pale.

He never watches anymore.

 _Heal what has been hurt_  
Change the fates design  
Save what has been lost  
Bring back what once was mine,  
What once was mine.

Eliot finishes the song in a whisper, exhausted by the whole process.

He pulls his hair away and turns to face Mother, who is smiling kindly at him. 

“Much better,” she coos, “Now how about I go make that soup you love so much for lunch?”

Eliot nods and smiles along, faking cheerfulness at the prospect of another dinner listening to his mother talk at him for an hour.

She heads to the kitchen, using the locked staircase to allow Eliot to rest after his healing episode.

Eliot watches after the place she stood, thinking. She looks better after the healing song, as she always does, but Eliot finds the niggling feeling in the pit of his stomach only intensifies.

No amount of singing can keep the coldness from her eyes.

He sighs, and goes to wash up for lunch.

.

.

Eliot eats his lunch silently, trying to find the right words to convince his mother of what he wants. He nods and murmurs along to her tales from the latest trip, but he's not really listening. A fact she, for once, doesn't seem to notice. Eliot is grateful.

Finally, their lunch is over and Eliot sets about clearing the table as Mother mutters about tired feet and stays seated. He takes her relaxed state as his chance to bring up the topic that's been on his mind for weeks. All year, if he's being honest with himself. Several years, if he really thinks about. He tries not to think about it too often, it hurts his head.

But he never can help the dreams.

.

“Mama,” he says, dropping his voice and using the childhood name to try and soften her disposition.

It appears to work, at least a little bit.

“What is it, darling?” Mother asks, smiling up at him from her chair.

The smile is almost warm, and Eliot's thoughts stutter for a moment. Every time he thinks he has her figured out, she throws him for a loop and lets a moment of genuine affection through her icy exterior. He's never quite sure whether to trust it or not, but either way, it confuses him.

Shaking his head, he approaches Mother, his hair trailing behind him on the spotless floor. Sweeping three times a day will do that to a place.

“My birthday is in a few days, you know,” he says, letting the end of the sentence trail off slowly.

Mother stands up so fast it makes Eliot's vision blur for a moment.

“That can't be right,” she muses, “I'm quite sure we just had your birthday last year!”

Eliot nods, placating her, before continuing.

“Yes, of course, Mother, but birthdays are kind of... annual like that.”

“Ah. Well,” Mother says, frowning, “I suppose they are. What would you like Mummy to bring you this year? Mr. Collins down the way has some lovely wooden toys.”

Eliot's patience snaps, just for a moment.

“Mother, I'll be EIGHTEEN years old! I don't want a wooden toy!”

He shrinks back immediately, not used to actually raising his voice at his mother. The strength and volume of it surprises him. He knows, abstractly, that he's nearly eighteen that he's grown taller and wider, and his voice has deepened. But he forgets, in the day to day routine of his life, that he's actually _grown_.

By the way Mother is looking at him, it seems like she forgets, too.

“There's no need to yell, young man!” she says, raising her own voice, “I was merely suggesting a gift for my beloved son. I would think you would be more grateful!”

And the thing is, Eliot _knows_ she's manipulating him. He knows her drama is all for effect. He knows it's just her way of controlling him. She's the master of the guilt trip, always has been. He knows this.

But it doesn't make him any more immune to it.

“I'm sorry, Mama,” he says, consciously lowering his voice, “I think I'm just not feeling well.”

Mother regards him for a long moment before nodding and crossing the room to wrap him in a suffocating hug.

Eliot grumbles internally, and hates that his mother is still an inch taller than him, taller still in the staggering heels she always wears. But he says nothing, just lets her hold him.

“Now,” she says, after releasing Eliot from the iron hug, “What _did_ you want for your birthday, darling?”

Eliot looks up at her, mustering all the hope and begging he can manage into his expression.

“I want to go see the floating lights.”

He continues on before his mother can interrupt, like she immediately tries to do.

“Please Mother, please! I've been asking for years and you always told me I wasn't old enough. But I'll be eighteen! That's a grown man! I'm smart, and I'm strong, and I won't talk to anybody, I promise. I just want to see the lights.”

Eliot takes a deep breath at the end of his outburst and looks back at his mother, waiting.

She says nothing for a moment, but he feels the rejection coming anyway.

“And what would you tell them?” she says, moving to run her fingers through his golden hair. “How would you explain this? Normal people don't have fifty feet of hair, darling. How would you ever expect to fit in?”

Eliot drops his gaze to the floor. He hadn't thought of that.

“I don't care,” he tries, but his voice is weak, “I don't need to fit in, I just want to see the lights.”

“Eliot,” Mother says, with a sympathetic tone, “You know what people would do to get their hands on your power. They can't use it without you.”

“All the more reason for people to be kind to me, then,” Eliot says, hope rising back up in his chest.

Mother laughs, not entirely kindly, “Oh, you poor, sweet thing. The faith you have in humanity never ceases to amaze me.”

“They can't all be that bad, Mother,” Eliot says, bored of the old argument already.

“Oh, but they are!” she replies, “Thieves and villains, the whole lot of them! And every single one of them would chain you up and force you to use your power.”

“I would refuse!” Eliot says, vehemently.

Mother grins, and it's a feral sight, “There are few things people wouldn't do for power. Torture would only be the beginning.”

Eliot wavers at that, just a little.

“But, Mother...”

“NO!” she interrupts, “Enough of this. You are not going to see the floating lights! You are not leaving this tower, ever!”

Her voice softens again and she pats his hair absently, “It's just too dangerous, darling, I'm sorry.”

Eliot can't speak; the rage is burning his throat, so he just nods.

He's never hit another living thing before, but the urge to do so now is nearly overwhelming.

Luckily, his brain works ahead of his limbs for once and he forms a new plan in an alarming speed.

“Of course, Mother,” he says, “I'm sorry for suggesting it. You know what's best.”

She grins widely, looking far too relieved.

“I'm so glad!” she says, “You know Mother loves you very much.”

“I know, Mother,” Eliot says, looking anywhere but in her eyes. “Can I still request a present for my birthday?”

“Absolutely, darling,” Mother says, “Anything but those dreadful lights.”

Eliot gives her a small smile.

“I'd love some new paints, that kind you got me a few years ago, made from the seashells.”

“Oh,” Mother says, pausing for a second before pasting the smile back on her face, “That's a three day journey, but of course, dear, if that's what you truly want.”

Eliot looks out the window, gaze settling on a bird flying across the sky in a streak of black.

“Yes,” he says, “it's what I truly want.”

Mother is too busy preparing for her trip to notice how preoccupied he is.

.

.

“Come on! Almost there, just a little further!”

“I need to rest, woman! Hold on for a second. We lost the guards a while back.”

Parker rolls her eyes, but comes to a stop anyway, letting her companion catch his breath.

“Only for a minute,” she says, pulling twigs and leaves from her blonde hair absently.

Hardison just stares back in wonder as he sinks to his knees and takes in huge gulps of air.

“How aren't you tired, girl? I can hardly breathe!”

Parker frowns in thought.

“That sentence is contradictory. You basically just said you can breathe fine, even though you meant you can't breathe.”

“Semantics,” Hardison says, huffing.

“I don't think so...” Parker says, but a noise from the bushes disrupts her before she can continue.

Hardison looks up sharply. “What was that?” he says in a whisper.

“Shh!” Parker replies, waving her hands at him to stay still.

Hardison nods and freezes, staying as still and nonchalant as he can manage. Parker moves to his side inch by inch, soundlessly. She nods once and Hardison takes the hint, moving to stand up slowly.

They stand in silence, keenly aware that they're being watched, but unable to see their adversary just yet.

Parker hears it first. The sound is almost lost in the wind and chatter of the forest around them, but she hears it. Heavy breathing is coming from somewhere behind them, likely among the trees.

Hardison hears it a moment later and he gulps audibly even as he reaches for his sword. Parker has a hand around her bow already, the other hand wrapped around a silver arrow.

They turn in unison, preparing themselves for a fleet of soldiers and their weapons.

When their foe finally moves into the light, Parker nearly falls to her knees in laughter.

The battle horse neighs angrily and growls at the pair, stepping forward menacingly.

“Parker... I think he's pretty pissed,” Hardison says, inching backward.

The horse makes another angry sound and bares his teeth in what looks like a deranged smile.

“He's just a horse!” Parker says, “He doesn't even have a rider. He's hardly dangerous.”

The horse, apparently taking offense to her statement, rises up on his back legs suddenly, letting out a powerful neigh.

The noise and motion is enough to shake even Parker and she steps back to stand with Hardison.

“Then again,” she says, “I could be wrong.”

The horse crouches down, bracing himself on his front legs, leaving absolutely no doubt that he's about to pounce.

“What now?” Hardison asks, reaching blindly for Parker with the hand not holding the sword.

Parker tucks her weapons away in an instant and grabs Hardison's offered hand.

“We run.”

They take off, the powerful horse at their heels.

.

.

Eliot waves after his mother as she heads down the road to begin her three day journey. When she vanishes from sight he pushes away from the window and collapses onto his bed. Lying on his back, he stares up at the ceiling, tracing the familiar star pattern with his eyes. He's been painting the pattern for as long as he can remember. It covers his room in all different colors and forms, but he's never been able to figure out why he feels so compelled to paint it time and time again.

He closes his eyes and lets his mind wander, trying to figure it all out. Images flash in his mind, but they're all a blur. All he can make out are nondescript faces and detached voices. And that same symbol, over and over. He sees a night sky behind his lids, the deepest blue. It's filled with shining stars that give it a glow. Then the stars are changing shape, morphing into that same shape, each one a glowing clue that he just can't figure out.

Something is missing, but he can't put his finger on it, and it's driving him mad. All he knows for sure is that he has to see those floating lights. He's not sure why, but he's sure that they hold the answers to his questions. And now that his mother is away for a few days, all he needs to do is figure out how to get to the lights by his birthday, the day the lights appear, every year.

Just as Eliot is wondering how to go about finding his way to the castle, where the lights come from, a loud crash sounds as something tumbles into his window.

He shoots up to his feet, grasping uselessly for a weapon he doesn't have. He's reacting before he can really think about it, tossing his hair around the intruder, wrapping him tightly and binding him to the desk chair.

The intruder makes a muffled sound of protest, but his struggles are useless against dozens of feet of hair rope.

“Who are you?” Eliot asks, inching closer.

All he get's is a muffled response that somehow manages to sound both aggravated and sarcastic.

“What do you want?” he demands, moving again until he's right in front of the intruder.

Again, all he gets is muffled angry sounds.

“Oh, right,” Eliot says, realizing the problem at last.

He reaches forward slowly and loosens the hair around the intruder's head, pushing it down so he can speak.

Eliot takes a step back and gasps slightly as he gets a good look at the intruder.

Not a 'he' after all, then.

“You're a girl!” he says, clearly shocked.

The girl looks up at him with wary hazel eyes.

“Yes,” she says, “And you're a boy. A boy who tied me to a chair for no good reason!”

“You broke into my house,” Eliot says, shrugging, “It seemed like the right thing to do.”

“I...” she says, before nodding, “Fair enough. This is some tight... wait, is this hair?” She struggles for another moment against the bonds before giving up and merely looking at the hair in wonder.

“How do you have so much hair?”

“The barber's on vacation,” Eliot replies wryly.

“Since when!” she exclaims, before shaking her head, “Oh, right. Sarcasm. Hardison is always saying I need to stop taking everything so literally.”

“Who is Ha... No. I don't care,” Eliot says, “Who are you? And what do you want?”

“You asked me those questions already,” she says, yawning, “You're kind of repetitive, did you know that?”

Eliot sighs as he feels a headache forming. He really doesn't have time for this.

“I asked again because you didn't answer me the first time. Come on, start talking.”

She looks around slowly, saying nothing for long enough that Eliot's patience cracks even further.

“Who are you!” he says again, angrier now.

“Going somewhere?” she asks, instead, gesturing towards the packed bag next to the bed.

It's enough to divert Eliot's attention for a moment and he's so caught off guard that he finds the truth spilling out to the blonde stranger.

“I'm going to the castle to see the floating lights. That is, if I can figure out how to get there in time.”

The girl grins slowly, not unlike the Cheshire cat that Eliot remembers from the bedtime stories of Alice in Wonderland.

He swallows hard, knowing he's just jumped down a rabbit hole, even if he's not sure exactly what has happened.

“It's lucky, you know,” she says, grin beaming. Her eyes sparkle with delight and Eliot knows he should look away, but he can't.

“You're a little bit crazy, aren't you?” he asks, even as he's loosening her bonds.

“Maybe,” she replies, “But it's still lucky.”

“What is?” Eliot asks.

“I'm headed to the castle, myself,” she says, “Isn't that just a fun coincidence?”

Eliot raises an eyebrow, skepticism clear on his face.

“Why should I believe you?” he asks, “You could be saying anything just to get me to let you go.”

She tilts her head and regards him silently before nodding in agreement.

“You're right,” she says, “I could be. For all you know, I could be a mass murderer out to collect the bones of creepy long haired boys in towers.”

“I'm not creepy!” Eliot protests, huffing a little.

She scrunches up her nose.

“You're a little creepy. I mean, who has fifty feet of hair? And what's with the tower? How do you ever go out? Surely you can't jump back and forth from the trees all the time. It was bad enough the once.”

“I...” Eliot pauses, cringing as the words come out against his conscious will, “I don't.”

“Don't what?” she asks, staring at him curiously, unable to decide what question he's answering.

“Leave,” he replies, “I don't leave the tower. My mother is... overprotective.”

“Oh,” she says, apparently stunned.

A moment of something flashes across her face, some emotion that Eliot can't put a name to, but it's gone before it's really there and her face is smooth again.

“Can I tell you a secret?” she says, that grin back in place.

Eliot tightens his hair around her but nods anyway.

“Go ahead,” he says.

“I'm not just going to the castle,” she says, pausing for dramatic effect, “I'm going home.”

She lets the statement settle in the air, waiting for Eliot to get it.

To her surprise, it only takes a moment.

“Wait,” he says, “Are you saying that you're part of the... you live in the... you're a...”

“Princess,” she finishes for him, “Yep. Princess. Heir to the throne. Rich beyond all belief. And, most importantly, very very important to the King and Queen.”

“Prove it,” Eliot says, still skeptical.

She nods toward the cloth bag that lies beneath the window where she came tumbling in. “Look in there,” she says, “You'll find my crown. I don't like the attention it attracts, so I don't wear it when I'm not in the castle.”

Eliot reaches for the bag with a stalk of hair, pulling it up and into his arms. With his eyes still on the girl, he reaches in and closes his fingers around something smooth and cool, letting the bag drop to the floor as he brings the crown into view. There's no mistaking it's royal, the sleek gold shines almost as bright as the jewels within it.

Eliot drops his hair at once and falls to his knees, bowing.

“I'm so sorry, your highness. I didn't know.” 

His head is bowed so that he misses the look of shocked incredulity on the girl's face.

She can't believe he's actually fallen for it. It wasn't even near her best performance.

She covers her shock quickly though, affecting a gracious and humble demeanor.

“No harm done,” she says, “Please rise.”

Eliot springs to his feet and quickly pulls his hair back behind him, away from her. He pushes the crown into her hands immediately, fighting the sick feeling in his stomach. He's heard what the royal family does to mere thieves. He's not sure he even wants to know what they will do to someone who tied up their Princess. Not to mention the angry demands and the name calling on top of it.

“I'm so sorry,” he says again, but the Princess only looks amused.

“Relax,” she says, “I won't tell anyone of this if you don't. I'll just be on my way.”

She stands to leave and Eliot tries not to say anything, but the words come out before he can stop them.

“Wait!”

She turns back to him, unable to help it when she hears the tone in his voice. He sounds desperate.

“What is it?” she asks, fighting to keep up the royal demeanor when exhaustion is rapidly overpowering her senses.

“Please,” he says, and this time he sounds more than desperate. Parker knows that tone too well; she's heard it all her life.

He sounds broken.

“If you would just tell me the way to the castle,” Eliot continues, his voice hoarse, “Please. I know I don't deserve your kindness, but please. All I've ever wanted is to see the floating lights. Please, Princess. Just tell me the way.”

Parker says nothing at first, her thoughts warring each other in her mind. She knows she should run as fast as she can away from this tower. Away from this boy-like man and his innocence. It's only a matter of time before he'll figure out that she's not who she says she is.

In the end, she can't bring herself to leave.

“I'll bring you there,” she says, resigned to the fact that Hardison's do-gooder attitude has rubbed off on her, yet again.

Eliot looks at her with such wonder and hope that she can't even feel bad about her decision.

“But first,” she says, “We have to find Hardison.”

Eliot nods and turns to grab his packed bag, but freezes a moment later as her words finally process.

“Who is Hardison, again?”

“He's... a friend,” Parker says, shrugging, “He travels with me, helps me with my... royal duties and such.”

“Oh,” Eliot says, nodding, “Ok. Hey, what's your name, anyway? I mean, if you don't mind telling me, your highness.”

She shrugs, “I don't really like all the fancy stuff outside of the castle. You can call me Parker.”

Eliot grins, and Parker can't help but stare.

He's a handsome man, there's no doubt about that, but she hasn't really noticed before. It's hard to focus on somebody's finer attributes when they're scowling and near threatening you, after all.

But in this moment, his smile lights up his whole face, and she returns the grin instinctively.

“You should smile more often,” she says, her voice softening for a moment.

Eliot's lips quirk into a grin once more before he settles back into a neutral expression. It's not a scowl, though, so Parker calls it a win.

“So, how do we get down, anyway?” Parker says, looking around the circular room, before finally seeing the door, camouflaged into the wall by the swirls of painted colors.

“It's locked,” Eliot says, shaking his head, “Mother keeps the key with her at all times.”

Parker just laughs. Outright laughs, like she knows something that she's not sharing with the class. Eliot finds it irritating, and he tells her so.

“Patience,” she says, ignoring the way Eliot just scowls deeper at her order.

“Your face will free like that, you know,” she says as she bends at the waist.

Eliot cocks his head, watching her silently. For the first time, he takes a good look at her outfit, and the image before him certainly doesn't match with those of the princesses he's read of in his books.

Those girls were always wearing some sort of flowing gown, in pretty pastel colors, with matching gloves. More often than not, they were surrounded by chirping birds or other woodland creatures that they somehow could communicate with. They were always pristine perfection, and Eliot's never quite known what to do with that.

Princess Parker, though, she's a different creature entirely. She's dressed in tight black trousers that Eliot is pretty sure are made of butter-soft leather. They cling to her like a second skin and disappear into her equally leather black knee-length boots. The boots have no heel on them, as Mother's shoes always do, but Eliot takes a moment to consider the impracticalities of heeled boots when one runs through forests and crashes through stranger's windows.

Parker's top is a simple, dark green tunic that's cuffed at the wrists, the sleeves being a little too long. The shirt looks to be a man's cut, now that he thinks about it, it's too boxy to be made for a woman, and it's so loose on the princess that Eliot would have no trouble mistaking her for a young boy from a distance.

When she reaches down, though, that loose shirt gapes, banishing any thoughts of the princess looking like a boy from Eliot's mind. Eliot feels his cheeks grow hot; the only breasts he's ever seen have been in books that he reads long after his mother has gone to bed.

Parker, however, doesn't seem to notice his discomfort and red face, and reaches into one tall boot, pulling out a small, flat, cloth-wrapped packet from it.

She stands back up and waves the packet at Eliot, smirking.

“I've never met a lock I couldn't pick,” she says.

Eliot stares in wonder as she pulls out the metal pins from the kit and kneels before the door. It's not more than ten seconds later when Eliot hears the click.

“Ha!” Parker exclaims in delight, “Beat my old record by two seconds, at least!”

She hops back up after securing the picks back in her boot and grins at Eliot.

“Ready to go, Goldie?”

Eliot's so mesmerized by what's just happened that he can't even be angry at the nickname.

“What kind of princess are you?” he says, finally.

Her smile falters, just for a moment, but then she's beaming again, one hand on the door, the other planted firmly on her hip.

“The kind who rescues boys in towers, apparently.”

And Eliot really can't do anything else but shrug and follow her out, swinging his bag over one shoulder as they go.

.

.

He makes it to the bottom of the stairs and all the way through the unlocked outside door before the panic sets in. He freezes in place, just a step outside the doorway. The grass is just so green, the sky so blue and endless, he can't take it all in. Sure, he's seen plenty from his window over the years, but it's nothing like this.

The world is suddenly stretching out before him, impossibly wide, and he finds that he can't quite breathe.

He sinks to his knees as it washes over him and catches himself on his hands, pushing against the warm grass.

“Eliot?” Parker says, turning back to face the gasping young man, “What's wrong?”

He looks up at her, squinting against the sun-halo around her hair.

“There's just so much...” he trails off, trying to get his breathing under control.

Parker doesn't understand but she steps forward anyway, moving to kneel in front of him.

“So much what?” she asks, “It's seems like a pretty nice day out to me.”

His pupils are blown wide as he stares, and she's caught by the sudden intensity of the blue of his eyes, more apparent in the bright light of the day.

“It's just so MUCH,” he says again, pushing up so he's resting on his heels. He waves his arms around him for emphasis.

“The world,” he says, finally, “It's just so much.”

Parker smiles, a little sadly.

“This isn't the world,” she says, “It's just a patch of lawn, leading to the forest.”

He doesn't look angry, and for a second, all she can see is the young boy buried underneath all the surliness.

“It may as well be the world,” Eliot says in a whisper, “Eighteen years, and I've never even been this far. I've never felt the grass before.”

“Yeah?” Parker says, grabbing Eliot's hands and pulling them both to their feet.

“How do you like it so far?” she asks, “The grass? The world?”

Eliot stands still for what seems like forever, just letting everything wash over him, before answering her question. He kicks his shoes off to feel the grass. The earth is surprisingly malleable beneath his feet and it makes him feel somehow imbalanced, but strangely free.

In the end, Eliot finds he can't sum up everything he feels in words so he wraps himself around the princess instead, hugging her so tight that she squeaks, even as she's laughing.

“I need to breathe, Goldie!” Parker says, pushing ineffectively at the hard chest against her. The boy is stronger than he looks.

Eliot releases her at once, cheeks flaming red.

“I'm sorry, your highness,” he says, “I was just overwhelmed.”

“Parker,” she says, “Call me Parker, please. And it's fine. I just need oxygen now and again.”

“Ok,” Eliot says, picking up his bag from where he'd dropped it on the grass.

“We should go,” Parker says, gesturing to the sky, “It'll be dark soon, and I want to find Hardison before we can't see anymore.”

Eliot nods and casts a final glance at the tower as he walks away.

He has no intention of ever returning.

.

.

“Parker!”

Eliot turns at the sound, just in time to see a young black man come out from among the trees.

Parker laughs and runs to the man, punching him in the shoulder as reaches his.

“Dammit, Hardison!” she says, “We weren't supposed to split up, you were right behind me!”

Hardison just rolls his eyes, “Easy, girl. I didn't go far; I just led the demon horse the wrong way for a while then hid until he was gone. You're barely in the forest; I bet you haven't been looking for more than ten minutes.”

Parker crosses her arms, “Five minutes. But that's not the point. We stick together, remember?”

Hardison shakes his head before pulling Parker into a loose hug, resting his chin atop her head.

“I'm sorry,” he says quietly, “Didn't mean to scare you.”

“Didn't scare me,” Parker says, petulantly, but even Eliot can see she's lying.

She pulls away but leaves her hands wrapped around his waist, just barely holding on. Hardison looks down at her with a half-smile and brushes her unruly hair back from her eyes.

“Of course not,” he says, still smiling at her.

Eliot suddenly feels like an intruder to their private moment. But he can't seem to look away. His throat restricts as he realizes what he's looking at.

He never realized that this is what love looks like.

.

Eliot is so lost in thought that he doesn't hear that the conversation has turned to him at first.

“Eliot,” Parker says, shaking him from his thoughts, “This is Hardison.”

Eliot nods at the man, and reaches to shake his hand.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, hoping he's greeting the other man correctly.

“Likewise,” Hardison replies, and Eliot relaxes a little bit.

His relief is short lived however, because a second later Hardison's eyes go wide as he gets a good look at Eliot in the fading light.

“Holy shit, man, is that _hair?”_

Eliot sighs and wonders if he's going to get this reaction from every stranger he meets.

Hardison seems to realize Eliot's discomfort and gives the other man an easy grin.

“Sorry, man, I was just surprised. It's cool if you've got long hair.”

Eliot nods, but says nothing else, not wanting to screw up the situation any further.

Parker takes it upon herself to announce it's time to go. Hardison takes her hand and lets her lead the way. Eliot walks a step behind them, dreams of the castle keeping his heart light.

.

.

They make camp five miles into the seemingly endless forest, and Eliot falls asleep almost immediately, curled up near the fire Parker's made.

When she's sure that Eliot is truly asleep, Parker pulls Hardison over to edge of camp, behind the trees.

“First thing’s first,” she says, and leans up to kiss him soundly.

“I haven't seen you in almost a whole day and all I get is one kiss?” Hardison asks, turning them so Parker's back is against the wide tree, and moving so that he surrounds her, his body snug against hers.

“Fine,” Parker says, with a faux-exasperated tone, “One more kiss.”

Hardison obliges, resting one hand behind her neck and the other at her waist, tracing her hip idly with is thumb.

He shifts, pushing a thigh between Parker's legs as she moves instinctively to let him. Hardison has the ties of her pants almost completely undone before she stops him.

“Wait!” Parker says, grabbing his wrist and holding it still.

Hardison is confused to say the least.

“What?” he asks, “Eliot's dead to the world, he won't hear anything.”

“It's not that,” she says, bucking up against Hardison's hand, where it's drifted back down against her ties.

“Then what?” Hardison asks, grinning when he gets the last tie in the dark. He kneels before her and pulls her trousers down, inch by inch, placing random kisses to her thighs as he goes.

“Just...guh,” Parker trails as he nips at her inner thigh gently, “Just, I may have told Eliot I was a princess, and told him I'd take him to the castle to see the floating lights.”

Hardison stops, mid-nip, “You did _what_ now?”

She doesn't need the light to know the incredulous expression on his face.

“He had me tied to a chair!” Parker says, trying to push Hardison's mouth back to a happier task.

He stands instead, and Parker suddenly feels a little bit foolish, exposed now that that moment is gone.

“Do you actually intend to bring him to the castle?”

It's not the question that Parker expects. But then, Hardison has always surprised her.

She shrugs. “I figure we can get him most of the way, and take off before we alert the guards.”

Hardison considers for a moment before nodding.

“We've had crazier plans,” he says, grinning.

“Much crazier,” Parker agrees, somehow getting his fly open with one hand before he's even noticed. “Now, how about we see just how soundly Eliot sleeps?”

Hardison laughs.

“Just be careful,” Parker says, “Last time we did it against a tree, I got splinters on my ass.”

“I remember,” Hardison says, still laughing, “No splinters this time, I promise.”

He pulls off his jacket and tunic, laying them on the ground in a makeshift bed, before he kicks off shoes and pants, smiling when Parker quickly follows suit.

“We'll get cold fast,” he warns her, as she lies down.

Parker smirks and tugs him down to lie with her.

“We'll keep each other plenty warm,” she says.

Hardison would agree, but he forgets to actually speak when she wraps a hot hand around him.

Words become less important for a while.

.

Eliot wakes suddenly, and freezes completely still when he remembers where he is. Rather, where he isn't. He wonders what woke him, but he dares not move. He hears a low moan from somewhere behind him, and he blushes instantly. He may have never touched a woman before, but he knows that sound from countless lonely nights over the years. Another sound, an almost-gasp, fills the air, and this time Eliot knows that it's Parker. Parker and Hardison, doing things he's only ever half-dreamed of. He shifts against the sudden tightness of his pants, and presses a palm to himself to try and calm down. He squeezes his eyes closed and tries to block out the sounds, but it's useless. He can hear everything. Every moan, every gasp, every harsh breath. Finally, the air is blessedly quiet, and Eliot can breathe again.

He feigns sleep still, even as Parker and Hardison rejoin him by the fire, curling up against each other as they settle down.

Eventually, exhaustion outweighs his racing mind, and he sleeps.

.

.

When Eliot awakens again, he finds the day already bright and cheery around him, with nary a cloud in the sky. He sits up slowly, stretching out the kinks from sleeping on the hard earth instead of his familiar bed. It's a second before he notices that something is off, but eventually he does and he tilts his head towards Parker and Hardison. The couple looks back at him with innocent expressions on their faces, happily munching on bread and cheese.

“Here,” Parker says, offering him some food.

The sudden rumbling of his stomach reminds Eliot that he is, in fact, hungry, and he leans forward to take the food.

Then it hits him.

“My hair!” he says, eyes widening in alarm, “What did you do?”

He looks around him, noting the absence of golden strands that usually surround him.

“Relax,” Hardison says, soothingly, “We didn't cut it or anything; Parker just thought it'd be easier to walk around with like that.”

Eliot takes a deep breath and looks back, his worry deflating when he sees the long braid that rests behind him.

“All that hair was just asking to trip,” Parker says, shrugging. “And it took forever to braid, I had to make several smaller braids and then braid all of those. It was hard work. So don't screw it up.”

She looks at him so sternly that Eliot can only nod and go about eating his breakfast.

“It's a two day journey to the castle,” Hardison says when he's done eating.

Eliot nods and looks over to Parker in concern, “Will we make it to the floating lights in time?”

Parker shares a look with Hardison that Eliot can't decipher but when she turns her attention back to him, she's smiling.

“We should get there in plenty of time.”

Eliot grins at them and goes back to eating. Hardison shoots Parker another glance that Eliot misses, but she ignores him. Hardison just shakes his head.

.

.

Meanwhile, a determined horse, separated from his master, nearly runs over a cloaked woman on her way to the coast.

“Whoa there, horse!” she calls out in an eerily calm voice.

The horse freezes comically at the tone, coming to a halt mid-gallop. He can't help but feel himself be compelled to the spot, even if he's wary. He sniffs the air around him.

Dark magic definitely runs through this woman, and it's keeping him from running.

She turns to him, lowering the hood on her cloak to reveal a beautiful face, framed by raven locks and deep brown eyes.

She trains those eyes on him, reaching out to run a hand down his mane. It sets him on edge.

“Well, well,” she says, as she notes his royal bridle, “What are you doing so far from the castle?”

He neighs low and bucks his head, shaking her hand off.

She stares at him thoughtfully, scenarios running through her head.

“What are the chances,” she says, “That the first time I leave that wretched child alone for more than a day is the same time I just happen to run into a royal guard horse, so far from the castle?”

The horse remains silent, watching her with wary, intelligent, eyes.

“Come, horse,” she says, pulling herself up to sit on his back. “We must go make sure that child hasn't gotten into any trouble.”

And he goes however unwilling he may be.

.

.

The trek through the forest isn't nearly as scary as Eliot thought it would be. His daily exercise routine has kept him in excellent shape, and he strides easily against the bramble and brush. Hardison, naturally athletic but a little too clumsy for a root-filled terrain, is slower, falling a few steps behind Eliot and Parker.

After a while, Parker's endless energy outlasts even Eliot's enthusiasm, and the young man falls back, matching his pace with Hardison.

They walk in comfortable silence for a while, following Parker as she practically dances her way through the forest, humming a jaunty but unidentifiable tune.

Eliot cracks his neck, not used to the consolidated weight of his braided hair. Hardison winces in sympathy.

“Yeah, Parker gets a little carried away sometimes. That's gotta hurt.”

“It's fine,” Eliot says, shrugging.

Hardison rolls his eyes before coming to a stop, grabbing Eliot by the arm to stop him as well.

“Just.. c'mere, man.”

Eliot looks at the other man a little warily, but does what he's told. Hardison moves to stand behind him and works his hands into Eliot's hair, right at the base of his skull.

Eliot is about to argue, or panic that somebody is getting so close to his hair, after being raised his whole life to protect it and its secret. But then next moment, Hardison's thumbs are rubbing deep into the top of his spine, and he forgets to be scared.

An embarrassing moan slips out of Eliot's mouth, but he can't seem to care. Hardison chuckles behind him and moves his hands up, linking his fingers through the braid and wiggling, loosening the ridiculously tight job that Parker had done.

“There,” he says, pulling his hands away and stepping back, “That better?”

Eliot smiles gratefully, “Thank you.”

Hardison shrugs, “No problem. I know what it's like, never wanting to disagree with her.”

“She's something else,” Eliot says, nodding, “So unlike any of the princesses I've ever heard of. My mother would hate her.”

Hardison laughs outright at that and Eliot finds himself grinning along at the sound. The other man has a nice laugh.

“She really kept you locked up in that tower all those years?” Hardison says, more bewildered statement than actual question. Eliot answers anyway.

“She had her reasons,” Eliot says, feeling compelled to defend the woman that raised him, albeit extremely over-protectively.

“I'm sure she did,” Hardison says, his voice neutral and easy-going. “I just figure it must be crazy for you, if you've never even been outside of the tower before.

Eliot's laugh bursts out of his chest, startling himself and Hardison alike. But suddenly the whole situation just seems so damn funny.

“You have no idea,” he says, once he's done laughing, “How about you? Is your mother crazy, too?”

Hardison shakes his head, a sudden sad look in his eyes.

“My parents died a long time ago.”

“I'm sorry,” Eliot says automatically, “I didn't know.”

“You couldn't have,” Hardison says good-naturedly, “I hardly even remember them.”

“She's not my real mother,” Eliot says, suddenly.

Hardison just waits, silent as they walk along.

“Sophie,” Eliot says, “That's her name. She used to tell me the story of how I came to her every night. I was an orphan, my real parents died in a huge village fire, miles from home. I was the only one who survived, but I wasn't even a year old. Nobody knew what to do with me.”

“She rescued you,” Hardison says, “So you wouldn't end up in an orphanage or working house when you got older.”

“She did,” Eliot nods, “And for the longest time I looked at her in awe. I thought she must be the kindest person in the world, and I loved her more than anything.”

“Until,” Hardison says, sure the story isn't done.

Eliot smiles ruefully, “Until I got old enough to start asking questions.”

“And you realized that it wasn't normal to be locked up in a tower,” Hardison supplies, voice still neutral and friendly.

“We live so far from everyone,” Eliot says, brow furrowing, “But people still come through sometimes. All my life, I've looked out that window and watched as they pass by. I've watched kids play, and I've wished I could just run and join them.”

“Man...” Hardison says, not really sure what else to say.

“I begged her,” Eliot continues, “I promised her that I'd come back, I just wanted to go play. But all she ever told me was no. It wasn't safe. But she was wrong.”

Hardison nods again, letting Eliot get it all out.

“The world isn't horrible,” he says, “or scary. It's nothing at all like what she said.”

“There are wolves in the world,” Hardison says, and Eliot looks over at him in alarm. He claps the other man on the shoulder gently. “They're in the world,” he says again, “But they don't rule it.”

Eliot gives him another grateful look, and they walk along. The place where Hardison's hand had rested still burns against his skin, but Eliot says nothing.

.

.

“NO!”

He hears her cry of fury even from his post at the bottom of the tower, and the horse bristles at the sound.

It sounds like she's tearing the place apart, screaming and cursing out a “wretched child” the whole while.

When she finally comes down, she's holding a well-worn tunic, and she shoves it in front of his nose.

“Horse,” she says, authority clears in her voice, “FIND HIM.”

He brays and looks up at the sky; he can feel the storm coming. She seems to understand, but she just grins wickedly.

“Can't have a lady running through the forest in the rain, now can we?” she says.

He may just be a horse, but he knows that she is no ordinary lady. Wisely, he makes no sound.

“Find him,” she repeats, and smacks him hard on his hide.

He takes off at a gallop, picking up the scent easily.

.

.

Before Eliot knows it, Parker is instructing them to find shelter for the storm that's coming.

“There's not a cloud in the sky, mama,” Hardison says, looking up into the clear dark blue above them.

“It's coming,” Parker says, insistently.

“These trees aren't much for shelter,” Eliot observes, looking critically at the wide-spaced branches.

Hardison shakes his head.

“Alright, Goldy, come on, let's see if we can find a cave that'll keep dry enough.”

Eliot just barely refrains from pouting when he speaks.

“That's not my name.”

Instead of the angry words Eliot expects, Hardison breaks out in laughter.

“Looks like our boy's got some balls after all!”

He claps Eliot on the shoulder before gesturing him to get a move on.

“Be nice to Goldy!” Parker calls after them.

Eliot sighs, but he finds that he's smiling, all the same.

.

They find a cave just as the first fat raindrops hit their heads. Eliot takes a moment to give Hardison his  very best eyebrow raise and pointed look combo.

“Oh, shut up,” Hardison says, shoving his pack at Eliot. “Go put a blanket down and get everything inside before it all gets wet. I'm gonna go grab Parker, hopefully she found some decent berries.”

Eliot nods and heads for the cave as Hardison leaves.

He lays the blanket down as best he can in the small cave, wondering how all three of them are going to fit in the space for the whole night.

Experimentally, he lies down, stretching out his legs in front of him. The cave just barely covers the length of him, which he's grateful for, but he's not sure how Hardison will stay dry with his tall body.

The others are back before he can mull it over very long, and he scrambles back up into a sitting position, letting his braid wind down behind him.

“We brought food!” Parker announces, grinning as she hold out a pouch of collected berries.

Eliot looks at the fruit suspiciously, he's read far too many stories where the berries were poisonous, and unsuspecting travelers never woke up from their night's sleep.

“Just try it,” Parker says, holding out an admittedly tasty looking red berry.

Eliot shakes his head, too embarrassed to explain his reasoning.

“Oh, come on,” Parker says, with a glint in her eyes that Eliot can't identify. 

He's not sure exactly how it happens, but the next thing he knows, Parker is straddling his lap, with one knee touching the ground on either side of him.

Eliot blinks in confusion, but opens his mouth automatically when she presses the berry to his lips.

“It's good, right?” Parker says, hopping back up carefully, mindful of the low ceiling.

Eliot swallows the fruit he doesn't even taste against the tightness in his throat and nods his agreement.

Parker pulls out a few jugs from her bag and moves to set them outside to collect rainwater.

Eliot looks over at Hardison, trying to figure out what's going on, if there's anything going on at all.

The other man just gives him a smirk and shakes his head fondly in Parker's direction.

Deciding that he must just be imagining things, Eliot pulls his blanket out of his bag, and scoots to lie on the far left of the makeshift bed, resting his head on his bag and trying to make himself as small as possible in the tight space.

He feels the others settle beside him, Hardison curling around Parker to keep his long limbs under the shelter. He's just about to drift into sleep when his head jerks back suddenly.

“Sorry!” Parker says, in the universal low whisper people use in the dark. She leans up and drapes Eliot's braid across his side, out of the way of future accidental tugging.

“S'OK,” Eliot says, just as quietly.

He can feel Parker smile as she brushes her lips against his cheek in a chaste goodnight kiss.

“Goodnight, Goldy,” she says.

“Night,” he says, resolutely ignoring the tingling in his cheek where Parker's lips had been.

His mind races, but a long day's worth of walking wins out in the end, and Eliot sleeps.

.

.

Parker wakes with a start, instantly knowing something is wrong. The world is still dark around her, and the rain is coming down heavy and loud.

And then she hears the breathing.

“Wake up!” she yells, shaking the others frantically, “WAKE UP!”

“What is it?” Hardison says, groggily.

“The guards are coming!” she says, shoving what she can into her bag and securing it across her back.

Eliot wakes up just in time to see a large creature suddenly invade the cave, its bright eyes glowing eerily in the blackness.

“Is that a horse?” he says, still sleep-slow.

“That's a _royal_ horse,” Parker says, “Which means the royal guards aren't far behind, we have to go!”

The horse takes that moment to neigh menacingly, moving to snap at Parker.

And then, he charges.

Parker leaps out of the way just in time, and the horse runs into the wall between them, hard.

He's momentarily dazed, and the trio uses the distraction to make a break for it.

“Where are we going?” Hardison yells over the raging rain.

“I'm not sure,” Parker yells back, scrambling to come up with a plan in the moment. “I can't see anything!”

“Then hopefully they can't either,” Hardison says, grabbing Parker's hand, “Let's just go!”

Parker nods, and reaches blindly for Eliot with her other hand.

Lightning flashes and Eliot gets a look at her face, and the panic on it. It doesn't help his nerves, but he swallows his protests and squeezes her hand.

They move as fast as they can in the pitch black and slippery conditions, trying to stay quiet.

“What was that?” Hardison asks, pulling the others to a stop.

“What?” Parker says, unable to hear anything besides the rain.

“I'm not sure...” Hardison starts to say, but gets cut off by the loud cracking sound that rumbles around them.

In an instant, the ground beneath them has collapsed, and they fall into blackness darker than the rainy night.

They hit water.

“Everyone OK?” Hardison asks, his feet slipping against the floor of the underground cave.

“Yeah,” Parker says, only a little shakily.

“Define 'OK'” Eliot says, shivering against the sudden cold of the rising water.

“The dam must have flooded,” Parker says, worry creeping into her voice.

“It'll be fine,” Hardison soothes, “There must be a way out. We just can't see it.”

He dives into the water, searching unsuccessfully for the way out, before coming back up and gasping for air.

“I can't see anything.”

“And we don't have enough time to try every rock,” Parker says.

Eliot hears the tone in her voice, the finality. The acceptance.

But he doesn't accept.

He dives down, pulling at every boulder he can get his hands on, to no avail. Only Parker's pull of his braid forces him back to the surface, when he needs to breathe.

The water is rising steadily, ticking their chins, making it impossible to stand anymore.

“I'm sorry,” Parker says, and it sounds like she's crying.

“It's not..” Eliot begins, but she cuts him off.

“It is!” she says, and yes, she's definitely crying now, “It's all my fault. I'm not a princess! I'm a thief! I was running from the royal guards when I crashed into your room. And now I've gone and gotten us all killed.”

Eliot doesn't know what to say, he's stunned. His adjusted eyes watch the dim silhouettes of Parker and Hardison, clinging to each other still.

He doesn't need to hear their whispers to know that they're telling saying goodbye.

“I'm sorry,” Parker says, again, kicking against the water, trying to stay afloat. “I figure you should know the truth.”

“I have magic hair!' Eliot says, the words bursting out of him of their own accord.

“What now?” Hardison says, clearly not understanding why Eliot is choosing now of all times to talk about hair. “I mean, your hair is nice and all, but I wouldn't call it magic.”

“No,” Eliot says, “I really have magic hair. It glows when I sing. I've never told anyone before. And now I won't get the chance again. I just thought somebody should know.”

“Wait a minute...” Parker says, trying to wrap her mind around the statement, “You have...”

Eliot's eyes widen, “Magic hair that glows when I sing!”

“Sing, dammit!” Hardison demands, losing strength rapidly.

Eliot begins to sing, spitting out the water as it tries to fill his mouth.

“ _Flower gleam and glow_  
Let your powers shine  
Make the clock reverse  
Bring back what once was mine.”

It's all he can manage before the water goes over his head, but it's enough. His braid glows magnificently, lighting up the cave around them. Knowing they don't have much time, the three work together and swim to the bottom, pulling on the rocks until finally, finally, they get the right one, and the wall collapses, pushing them, and the cave of water, into the river.

.

.

Parker's laughter is the first thing Eliot hears when he reaches solid ground. It may just be the sweetest sound he's ever heard. It means they aren't dead.

He collapses onto the wet earth, crawling to lie beside Hardison and Parker as they all catch their breath.

“Hardison? Shit, Hardison!”

Eliot's eyes snap open at the panic in Parker's voice. He sits up and crawls over to her. She's kneeling beside Hardison, whose dark skin has turned a frightening shade of pale. Parker has both her hands pressed to Hardison's thigh, but Eliot can still see the blood seeping through her fingers.

“What happened?” he asks.

Parker looks to him with wide, worried, eyes.

“He must have hit some rocks on the way down the river. He's losing so much blood, there's so much blood, I don't know what...”

“Breathe,” Eliot cuts in, “And promise me you won't freak out in a minute.”

Parker takes a deep breath and nods, but scowls fiercely when Eliot tries to remove her hands from Hardison's leg.

“Parker, please,” Eliot says, “He's already unconscious, let me help him before he dies.”

That seems to do the trick and Parker pulls away, moving to sit with her knees drawn up under her chin,  her bloody hands clawing into the damp material of her pants.

Taking a deep breath of his own, Eliot pushes himself up to rest on his knees beside Hardison. He says a silent prayer that he still has enough energy for this to work. Ignoring Parker's confused stare, Eliot wraps his long braid around Hardison's thigh before pressing both his hands against the hair to hold it in place.

“ _Flower gleam and glow  
Let your powers shine” _

Eliot doubles over with the effort the song is taking, and he can't seem to catch his breath. His hair is glowing dully, but it's not enough. He tries to sing again, but he goes into a coughing fit. It feels like his insides are burning up with the effort. He knows he's only moments from passing out alongside Hardison. His vision starts going brown around the edges and he feels himself starting to fall forward.

“Please.”

He hears her voice through the fog in his mind and he clings to it, trying to stay conscious.

Parker is there, her arms wrapped around him, holding him upright and against her.

“Please,” she repeats, begging, “please just fix him. Please, Eliot.”

He takes another breath and lets her warmth seep into his back, tries to steady himself.

Sagging against her grip, he still can't sing, but he bows his head to rest upon his hands and he hums.

Parker drops her arms to his waist, still holding him up. Eliot feels the pain of her grip faintly, but he's grateful for it. It gives him something to focus on.

He keeps humming, the familiar tune flowing through him effortlessly. He just hopes it's enough.

The last thing he sees is a blinding flash of white before everything goes black.

.

.

The first thing Eliot realizes when he wakes up is the fact that he's not alone. Someone is pressed into his side, with their arm wrapped securely across his chest. Opening his eyes slowly, he dares to look down and over, breathing a sigh of relief when he recognizes the blonde mop of hair he sees.

“Parker,” he says, pushing back the slew of questions that are running through his head faster than he can voice them.

She wakes instantly, sitting up so fast that she actually blurs in front of his eyes.

“Eliot!” she says, grinning so wide that Eliot is sure it must hurt.

“Hey,” he replies, surprised to hear the unusual gravel in his voice.

Parker hops off the bed and disappears for a minute, coming back with a cup of water that she hands to Eliot.

He drinks greedily, suddenly aware of his aching thirst. When he drains the water, he clears his throat, and tries to talk again.

“Where are we?”

Parker smiles again at the renewed strength of his voice.

“With friends,” she says, shrugging, “In the forest.”

Eliot nods, trying to piece everything together.

And then he remembers, and looks at Parker, afraid to ask. But he has to.

“Hardison?”

“He's fine,” Parker says, wonder evident in her voice, “Whatever you did, you fixed him good as new. He's outside with the others, building the fire.”

Relief floods through Eliot, until he finally realizes what feels wrong about the whole thing.

Parker is looking at him with a mix of relief and trepidation and he suddenly feels sick to his stomach.

“Why were you in here with me?” he asks.

Parker moves and sits beside him, knowing this won't be an easy conversation.

“We wanted to make sure you weren't alone when you woke up,” she says, “Hardison and I have been taking turns staying with you.”

Eliot lets that process, ignoring the flash of heat that shoots through him at the thought.

“Wait,” he says, and Parker cringes, “how long have I been asleep?”

She avoids his eyes as she answers.

“Nearly a week.”

.

Just like that, everything changes.

“The floating lights,” Eliot says in a whisper.

Parker grabs one of his hands in her own, “I'm so sorry.”

Eliot stares at her blankly, not really seeing her at all. He waits for the crushing disappointment to fill him, waits for the hurt and the tears and the anger.

But they don't come.

“It's OK,” he says, not sure who is more surprised, himself or Parker.

Whatever Parker is about to say is interrupted by the door flying open and Hardison bursting in.

“Eliot!” he says, way too loudly, but wonderfully alive.  “The others said they heard voices.”

“Hey,” Eliot replies, laughing as he's tackled into a hug by the enthusiastic Hardison.

“Careful!” Parker says, smacking Hardison on the arm, “Don't break him yet, we just got him back!”

Eliot smiles despite himself.

“I feel good,” he says, “Though I think I could use some food. And a bath.”

“Well, I wasn't gonna say anything...” Hardison says, waving his hand in front of his nose in an exaggerated motion.

“Oh, shut up,” Eliot says, “You try sleeping for a week and see how nice you smell.”

“Pshaw,” Hardison scoffs, “I always smell awesome. Like sunshine and manly manliness!”

Parker just rolls her eyes.

“Sunshine, how about you show Eliot where he can bathe? I'll go tell the others we have another for supper.”

Hardison releases Eliot from his hold and grabs Parker instead, pulling her onto his lap and hugging her tight, placing silly kisses on her cheeks.

“Yes, ma'am!” he says, letting her go and standing up. “Come on, Goldy, I'll show you the way.”

Eliot stands, still wobbly with his recently unused legs, but he manages to stay upright.

Hardison wraps an arm around the shorter man's shoulders and steadies him.

“Don't worry,” he says, “We'll go slow.”

.

Parker watches the two men hobble out with a smile. When they finally leave, she collapses onto the bed, on her belly, breathing deep with relief.

She wrinkles her nose before turning to lie on her back. The sheets need washing, too.  But for now, all she needs is a little nap. She's sure Hardison will have told the whole camp about Eliot by now anyway. She closes her eyes and lets the setting sun lull her to sleep.

.

.

The first few days of life in the thieves’ forest pass by in a blur to Eliot. Nothing is what he expected, especially the people, but he finds that he doesn't mind so much. The people are friendly, and generous, and they all seem to genuinely care about each other.

It's something Eliot has never really seen, but he's learning that he likes it.

He's sitting in front of the dying fire, alone with his thoughts, when Hardison joins him.

“So,” he says, sitting cross-legged next to Eliot, “What do you think?”

“Of what?” Eliot asks, turning slightly so he can face the other man.

Hardison grins.

“Of everything. Anything.” Hardison waves his hand, gesturing to encompass the place and people around them, “All of it.”

Eliot considers the question, really considers it, before answering. He looks around, at the tents and makeshift cabins, covered from sight by the tall trees. It's secluded and almost certainly hard to find, or escape from. He's sure he should feel trapped or overwhelmed. But there's something about the place that feels good. It feels cozy. It's only been a few short days, but Eliot already knows he could be happier here than he's ever been before.

“I like it,” he says, finally, grinning at Hardison.

“Of course you do,” Hardison says, even though they both know he was worried. “Who wouldn't like it?”

“Is this where you live now?” Eliot asks, looking around with a fondness in his eyes at the little homestead.

“Nah,” Hardison says, poking Eliot in his side, “It's where _we_ live now.”

Eliot couldn't wipe the smile off his face if he tried.

.

.

After a month, Eliot finds himself in a comfortable routine in the thieves’ forest. He wakes up when the sun reaches through his tent and warms his face. He works with the others to fix what needs fixing and build what needs building in their little village. If he spends too long in the harsh sun, he counts it as making up for eighteen years trapped in a tower. And if his shoulders and muscles expand a little bit more, nobody seems to mind.

Soon enough, Eliot's pale skin darkens to a caramel tan, becoming a stark contrast to the golden yellow of his hair. Parker re-braids his hair every few days, sometimes enlisting Hardison's help. The other man mostly makes sarcastic comments and halfheartedly runs a comb through Eliot's hair, but they don't mind.

.

“You should let me cut some of this off,” Parker says one day, while combs through Eliot's just-washed hair. She lifts her hand, struggling against the weight of the hair, and gives Eliot a little tug.

Eliot bristles briefly, but winces at the sharp pain that spreads across his skull from pulling the hair Parker still holds.

“You can't,” he says, sounding more resigned than angry.

“Oh, come on,” Parker says, releasing his hair and patting his head. “I'll only cut off like a foot.. or 40.”

Eliot laughs humorlessly.

“We've never talked about it, you know,” Hardison interrupts, moving to sit beside Parker on Eliot's floor.

Eliot turns to face the others, a wary scowl on his face.

Hardison rolls his eyes.

“Don't give me that face, man. It's just a talk.”

Eliot forces his expression into one of less annoyance.

“Why don't you want me to cut your hair?” Parker asks, “I won't stab you. Not on purpose, anyway.”

“I...” Eliot says, but he can't put his thoughts into words.

Hardison, however, understands.

“I don't think it's that he doesn't want to cut his hair, baby,” Hardison says to Parker, “I'm pretty sure that he _can't._ ”

“Why couldn't he... oh, this has something to do with the magic glowing stuff, huh?” Parker says, finally piecing it together.

Eliot sighs and reaches into his hair, pulling out a single lock of chestnut brown hair from within the gold. It just barely brushes his shoulders when he holds it out to show the others.

“When I was four or five, my mother tried to cut my hair. This happened.” He tucks the lock back behind his ear before continuing.

“Whatever magic this is, once the hair is cut, it disappears. It turns brown and doesn't grow anymore.”

“You don't know what it is?” Hardison asks.

Eliot shakes his head and frowns before speaking again.

“Sometimes I felt like my mother knew, but she never told me. I asked, of course, but she always claimed not to know.”

“We'll figure it out!” Parker declares, grinning, “We'll find out and then you can go to your mother and refuse to tell HER!”

Eliot laughs at her declaration.

“You're kind of crazy, you know that?” he says, fondly.

“But the right kind,” Parker retorts, poking Eliot on the tip of his nose. Just because she can.

Eliot growls and makes a weak attempt to bite at her finger, but she pulls away easily, leaning back against Hardison.

Parker goes back to combing Eliot's hair, bit by bit, until the three lapse back into a comfortable silence.

“Why does it matter?” Hardison asks, suddenly, disrupting the quiet.

“Hmm?” Eliot asks lazily, eyes closed as he relaxes into the brush strokes.

“The magic,” Hardison clarifies, “Why does it matter? If you cut your hair and the magic was gone, why would it matter?”

“I don't need the magic,” Eliot says, “That's not the problem.”

“What, then?” Parker asks, finally getting through the last of the tangles.

Eliot shrugs, an action that somehow looks even more unsure across his newly-broader shoulders.

“I don't know. That's the problem,” he says, “I have no idea what would happen if I lost the magic.”

“You couldn't heal people anymore,” Parker says, eyes softening on Hardison for a moment.

“No. But I could hope my friends wouldn't try and get themselves killed just because I could fix them.”

“Nobody is getting anybody killed,” Hardison says, “Probably not, anyway.”

Eliot rolls his eyes, “That's reassuring, really.”

“So what's the real problem?” Parker asks.

“I'm afraid,” Eliot admits, “I don't know what it means to have this, this goddamn _thing_ , inside me. What happens when it's gone? What if it kills me?”

.

Parker reaches and runs her fingers through Eliot's hair, smoothing over the dark lock, and frowns.

“You know what?” she twirls the hair around her finger, “I like the long hair.”

“Yeah, it's good,” Hardison agrees, shrugging, “Much better than a potentially dead brunette.”

Eliot snorts. “You have a way with words, Hardison.”

“We can't all be Eliot,” Hardison retorts, “Mr. 'Oh look at my magic hair and flexing muscles.'”

“Flexing muscles, huh?” Eliot says with a quirked eyebrow and a smirk.

Hardison just shrugs, unashamed, “A man can admire.”

Parker giggles and crawls into Hardison's lap, kissing him soundly.

“Look all you want. But no touching... unless you tell me first. And want to share.”

Eliot's eyes widen at the sudden change of pace.

“Relax,” Parker says, from her place on Hardison's lap. “We're not gonna force you into bed with us. We're just teasing you.”

“Plus,” Hardison adds, “We can't tell whether you even have any interest in guys. Or girls. You ain't into sheep or something kinky, are you? Man, we had this guy, Earl... you don't want to know what he did with the goats, I mean, seriously... he...”

“Hardy, stop,” Parker says, laughing, “Don't scare the boy.”

“I'm not a boy,” Eliot says, scowling in a very manly fashion, thank you very much.

“Fair enough,” Hardison says, letting his eyes wander over Eliot's muscled form freely now that he's sure the other man won't run away in fear or disgust.

“But which is it?” he asks, “Are you into men or women?”

“Or both,” Parker asks, helpfully. “We like both.”

“I like...” Eliot starts, the 'you' on the tip of his tongue, but he can't say it, not yet. “Women,” he finishes, “I definitely like women.”

Hardison pouts, honest to god pouts, and Eliot has the sudden urge to bite the other man's lip.

He swallows hard, “But, I think I might like men, too.”

Hardison outright beams at the sentence.

“Down, boy,” Parker says, starting a little on his lap, “Literally.”

Hardison sighs.

“You're right,” he says, “Eliot needs to figure this all out for himself.”

“Exactly,” Parker nods, “he just needs to go out there and see what he likes.”

“He's sitting right here, you know,” Eliot points out, more amused than annoyed.

Parker nods with a placating smile.

“We know you are.”

Eliot sticks out his tongue at the pair, before standing.

“Well, me and my flexing muscles are going for a walk.”

“But I didn't braid your hair yet,” Parker says, looking up at him with her saddest eyes.

His resolve crumbles.

“Fine,” he huffs, sitting back down, “You can braid the hair. _Then_ I'm going for a walk.”

Hardison clamps a hand across Parker's mouth before she can tease Eliot again, for which Eliot, and his growing headache, is grateful.

.

.

By Eliot's second month in the village, he's made friends with almost everyone. He learns to cook with the kids of the group, only glaring occasionally at the ones who dare tease him for his age.

A raven haired girl a few years older than him named Nina teaches him how to use a sword. She's married to a man whose name Eliot never catches, but who looks as good in tight pants as his wife does.

One of the girls about his age, a slip of a thing, tries to teach him to dance. After the third lesson in a row that he steps on her feet and trips her with his braid, she gives up. She kisses him on the cheek and gracefully dances away, not unlike a deer.

Parker teaches him how to slip someone's purse from their body without being seen. Hardison teaches him how to only use his skills against people who deserve it, or in times of great distress.

Eliot wonders how thieves came to be so civilized. Not for the first time, he wonders why his mother had lied to him all those years.

He finds the world isn't so scary, after all.

.

.

By his fifth month, Eliot is restless. Not bored, exactly, and definitely not unhappy. But there's something missing, even if he's not quite sure what it is.

That, of course, is when Gypsy comes into his life.

.

It's not his real name, Eliot's sure of it, but that's what the man introduces himself as when he wanders into their camp one day.

He approaches the leader of the village, an old woman named Susan, and offers to play some music for a place to rest for the night and a good meal.

Susan tells him to stay as long as he'd like.

Eliot loves her in that moment.

.

.

He's floating in the lake when he sees Gypsy next. The sky is black and the only light on the lake is from the moon, so Eliot doesn't see him at first. But he hears a noise and looks up just in time to see a shock of skin jumping into the water.

When the other man surfaces, he looks just as surprised to see another person as Eliot is.

To his credit, the other man recovers quickly, wading out to stand by Eliot. The water isn't very deep, maybe four feet, and the men stand comfortably with the water lapping at their chests.

Eliot takes a moment to appreciate the dirty-blonde in the pale moonlight. His hair is slicked back with water, curling slightly where it rests at the very tops of his shoulders. He's not quite as cut as Eliot, but his shoulders are broad and tanned, leading into a gently muscled chest. The rest of him is lost to Eliot under the water, but what he can see is enough to make his belly tingle pleasantly.

“Hey,” the other man says, shaking Eliot from his silent assessment.

Eliot looks up at the sound of his voice, smiling at the raspy sound, despite himself.

“Nobody else usually comes round here this late,” Eliot says, shrugging at the peacefulness around him. 

“Just felt like a swim,” Gypsy says, bringing one arm to the surface to reach out for Eliot's hand, “I'm Gypsy, by the way. I don't think we've officially met.”

Eliot grabs his hand in a firm handshake, which feels a little ridiculous while standing naked in a lake with a man he just met.

“Eliot,” he says, still grasping the other man's hand. It's warm, despite the cool water of the lake, and his longer fingers wrap around Eliot's hand, branding him with their heat.

Eliot really doesn't mind.

Gypsy gives him a small smile, bright blue eyes twinkling, before finally releasing his hand.

The cold rushes back over him, and Eliot instantly misses the warmth.

Eliot has a moment of panic at the sudden rush of desire that bolts through him. It's practically an electric shock.

He's come to understand himself a lot better in these past five months. He knows that he finds both women and men attractive, and that he's not the only one to think that way. He also knows that he's a little bit in love with both Parker and Hardison, but he can't tell them. They've offered to take him into their bed many times, and he knows they care about him, but his feelings scare him more than he cares to admit.

But this; this is different. He doesn't know Gypsy, has no personal feelings toward him, hell, he doesn't even know his real name. Yet he knows that he wants him, instinctively. His body practically hums with the strength of it.

He only hopes Gypsy doesn't run off when he realizes Eliot has no idea what he's doing.

Gypsy smiles again, wider, and moves even closer to Eliot, rippling the water around them.

Eliot can only sway with it, anticipation and fear rising in his chest in equal amounts.

“Tell me if I'm reading this wrong,” Gyspy says as cups Eliot's face with his hand and tilts his head up.

Eliot closes his eyes and just lets himself feel.

“Definitely not wrong,” he says.

He presses his lips to Gypsy's before he can talk himself out of it. He feels Gypsy smile against him a moment before he pulls away.

“You're sweet,” he says to Eliot, rubbing his thumb across the other man's cheekbone.

Eliot blushes. For all he's learned about himself, he still knows almost nothing about all of this.

“Sorry,” he says, ducking his head a little.

Gypsy chuckles, a low sound that does nothing to quell the burning under Eliot's skin.

“Don't be,” he says, “I like it.”

“I don't know how to...” Eliot says, trailing off, knowing the implication is clear enough.

“I'll teach you,” Gypsy says, and Eliot knows it's a promise.

Gypsy leans forward to kiss him again and he goes willingly, wrapping his arms around Gypsy's waist and pulling him until they're flush against each other in the water.   
Eliot whimpers at the new sensation, pleased when he hears a similar gasp come from Gypsy.

Feeling bold, he bites down on Gypsy's lip hard enough to make him gasp again. He soothes the bite with his tongue before deepening the kiss. Gypsy lets him in, lets him lead, lets him explore, one hand held in Eliot's hair, the other gripping his bicep tightly.

When they pull away for air, Eliot looks at him with lust, but also insecurity.

“Did I do o.k?” he asks.

“More than,” Gyspy says, shifting against him where they're still pressed together.

Skin on skin like Eliot's never experienced before, and he's not sure how it could feel better.

And then Gypsy's hand drops back beneath the water and Eliot learns how very wrong he is.

Gypsy grips them both with those sinfully long fingers and it's a thousand times better than Eliot's ever imagined. A million times better than it's ever been alone.

His vision goes white with pleasure and it's over way too soon, but Gypsy doesn't seem to care, following Eliot a moment later.

“Jesus,” Eliot pants, slumping against Gypsy, still gripping his waist.

He chuckles again and whispers “blasphemer” in his ear.

Eliot snorts. “Not gonna tell me you're a man of the cloth now, are you?”

“Not gonna call me a sinner now, are you?” Gypsy counters, nipping at the shell of Eliot's ear as he speaks.

Eliot shivers at the sensation.

“That wasn't a 'no,'” Eliot says, when he regains his composure.

He pulls back far enough to be able to see Gypsy's face, but leaves his hands linked loosely around his waist. Gypsy threads his own hands around Eliot's waist and they just stand there for a moment, swaying in the water.

“I'm no man of the cloth,” he says, “But I am most definitely a sinner.”

Eliot shrugs and looks into the other man's eyes, seeing nothing but warmth and satisfaction there.

“If you are,” he says, “It's not because of this.”

“Only according to the Church,” Gypsy says, “but what do they know, anyway?”

“Nothing I can think of,” Eliot replies, moving to kiss him again, softly.

It's a long time before they finally make their way to bed.

.

.

Eliot wakes to the familiar sound of giggling. Without opening his eyes he mutters for Parker to go away. She's always trying to wake him up too early, and giggling over whatever she's done to his hair while he's slept.

“Don't think so, Goldy,” she says, and she sounds downright delighted.

It terrifies him a little bit.

And then it all comes rushing back.

Eliot sits up suddenly, thankful that he ended up back in his own bed after they left the lake the night before.

He cringes a moment later when he realizes that he passed out on his back, above the covers, very much completely naked.

This detail has not escaped Parker's notice, if her giggles are anything to go by.

“So,” Parker says, drawing the word out slowly, “happy to see me?”

She glances pointedly at Eliot's crotch, where his morning wood apparently didn't get the memo that now was just NOT the time.

Eliot scowls and pulls a pillow over his lap.

“Got nothing to do with you,” he says, defiantly.

Parker just grins.

“I figured,” she says, “because I know I didn't leave those marks. And Hardison was with me all night...”

Suddenly Eliot is acutely aware of every single love-bite that Gypsy left on his neck and of the stubble burn that he knows he returned.

“Ain't none of your business,” he says, glaring at the girl.

Parker pouts.

“Such sass. To think, you were so proper when I met you.”

Eliot sticks out his tongue but says nothing.

“Oh, come on Elly!” Parker says, launching herself to the bed, landing beside Eliot with a bounce.

She crawls over him, settling with one leg on either side of his thighs, mere inches from the pillow on Eliot's lap.

“Par-ker,” he chokes out with effort, “get off!”

Parker grins.

“But you refuse to come to bed with us, remember?”

All Eliot wants to do is lie back down and bury his head under the covers, but he knows Parker won't leave him alone until she gets the information she wants.

“Tell me, tell me!” Parker says, bouncing.

He moans, he can't help it, with her wriggling all over him. The pillow isn't nearly enough of a barrier.

She cackles in delight and bounces again.

“Come on, Goldy, spill!”

And the thing is, Eliot knows he could push her away. She's not weak, but he's stronger. He could lift her and toss her out.

But his raging libido and stupid heart just won’t let him. Even if he knows she doesn't feel the same way. It's all just a game to her.

He shakes his head.

Parker pouts again, but he doesn't trust her innocent act for a moment.

He's right to be wary. The next moment she's crawling again, shifting so her knees are on either side of his hips and she's sitting directly on top of the pillow.

Eliot holds his breath, willing his body to just behave for once.

Of course, it doesn't listen.

“Tell me,” Parker whispers, and she rolls her hips, just once, smirk on her face.

Eliot moans again, hating her so much in that moment that he truly wishes he didn't love her so much.

He hates her even more a second later when he hears a laugh come from the doorway.

Of course it's Gypsy, standing there looking far too amused for Eliot's liking.

“You learn fast,” he says to Eliot, but he's still smiling.

“Oh!” Parker says, hopping up so fast Eliot's not exactly sure what happened. “Ohhhh!” she repeats. “You're the one who marked up our Eliot!”

She looks positively gleeful. Something in Eliot's heart twinges. Somewhere, in a part of his mind that he didn't want to acknowledge, he wanted her to be jealous.

“I didn't realize he belonged to anyone,” Gypsy replies, looking contrite for all of a second.

“It's not like that,” Eliot says, hoping his voice doesn't sound as sad as he imagines.

Gypsy takes in the scene. An all but naked Eliot and a scantily clad girl that was straddling him. He raises his eyebrows at Eliot in disbelief.

“So you normally have girls in outfits like that wake you up by jumping in your bed?”

Parker looks down at her outfit, currently one of Hardison's longer shirts and her comfiest leather knee boots.

“What's wrong with my outfit?” she asks, offended.

Gypsy trails his gaze over her slowly before answering.

“Not a damn thing,” he says, grinning.

“It's not girls!” Eliot says, “It's just the one girl. Her. Parker! She does this all the time.”

Parker nods and shrugs, “It's true. It annoys him. It's funny when he's annoyed.”

Eliot growls and Parker just giggles and gestures as if to say 'see?'

“Hey,” Gypsy says, holding up his hands like white flags, “One night doesn't mean we're married. You can enjoy whoever you want.”

Eliot trains his eyes on his, resolutely ignoring Parker for the moment.

“I was hoping to enjoy some more with you,” he says, voice going soft as the insecurities rear again.

Gypsy grins wide.

“I was hoping you'd say that.”

“I'll just be going,” Parker says, slipping towards the exit, “I have a very tall boyfriend to wake up with an orgasm.”

When she's gone, Gypsy looks at Eliot with amusement in his eyes.

“Is she always like that?”

Eliot shrugs and smiles fondly, “She's Parker.”

Gypsy nods, not really understanding, but realizing he really doesn't need to.

“Come on,” he says, “get dressed. They're cooking up something good out there.”

Eliot is a little disappointed. He'd been hoping for a little replay of last night, minus the water. But he stands and pulls on clothing, fighting the blush that creeps through him at being exposed to Gypsy in the light.

He heads out, but Gypsy stops him, pulling him into a loose hug and kissing him on the side of his neck, biting down lightly on one of the marks he already made.

“Breakfast first,” he says into his ear, low and rough, “we're gonna need the energy. Promise.”

Eliot ruts against him automatically, craving the friction that their clothes prevent.

Gypsy laughs and tugs on an earlobe before pulling away.

“Come on, Rapunzel. It'll be worth it.”

Eliot follows, but not before asking, “Who's Rapunzel?”

Gypsy looks at him, and his long long braid, before shaking his head in disbelief.

“You really don't know?”

Eliot shakes his head.

“I'll tell you the story over breakfast,” Gypsy says, leading the other man out.

.

.

The next few weeks with Gypsy are some of the happiest days that Eliot can remember. The other man is an enigma. He seems so open, sharing fantastic stories and beautiful music, but he never actually talks about himself. He's a mystery, and Eliot's never been so intrigued.

He's asked, of course, but every time he does, Gypsy finds a way to distract him. Usually with his mouth. Eliot supposes a little mystery isn't such a bad thing, after all.

.

The first time Eliot tries to take Gypsy in his mouth the way he's done for him, he chokes almost immediately and pulls of, coughing. Gypsy, with the patience of a very horny saint, reassures him, telling him that everyone chokes at first.

“Even you?” Eliot asks, suspiciously.

Gypsy laughs, “Man, I gagged so hard that I threw up. Trust me, you're doing fine.”

It does a lot to soothe Eliot's nerves, and he tries again, going slower this time.

He doesn't choke, but he's not sure how well he's doing, so he dares a look up at Gypsy.

The other man has a blissful expression on his face and he's clutching the blanket for all it's worth. Eliot supposes he's doing alright, after all.

He pulls off again, much to Gypsy's dismay.

“My hair,” he says, voice raspy, “put your hands in my hair. Tight.”

Gypsy bucks at the thought and does what he's told; threading his fingers through Eliot's hair and gives a little tug.

Eliot hums in approval before taking him back into his mouth, twirling his tongue experimentally. Gypsy's hands grip tighter at the move and Eliot chuckles, the vibration of the sound sending waves of pleasure through him.

Eliot doesn't even think about it, just starts humming, wanting to make Gypsy feel as good as he's made him feel.

“Jesus, fuck, El!” he gasps, fighting not to buck into his mouth. 

Eliot just pushes down deeper while he hums. Turns out he's got a knack for it once he controls his gag reflex.

“Eliot,” Gypsy rasps, warning him, “I'm gonna come, El, m-m-move..”

Eliot just flattens his tongue and sucks hard, scraping his teeth lightly along a sensitive vein.

Gypsy cries out and then it's over, but Eliot just swallows it all, only wrinkling his nose a little at the bitter taste.

He pulls off with a final lick and barely manages to lean up before Gypsy is grabbing him and turning them around, pressing Eliot on his back and practically mauling his already swollen mouth. He doesn't mind though, and gives back as good as he gets. He ruts against Gypsy's thigh, desperately seeking enough friction to get off, but it's just not enough.

“Shh,” Gypsy soothes, “I'll take care of you.”

He gets off the bed and rummages around in the pile of his clothes on the floor. Eliot watches in silence, torn between curiosity and the maddening urge to kill him if he doesn't get back in bed this goddamn instant.

Grinning in triumph, he crawls back onto the bed, straddling Eliot on his knees. He waves a little jar of something in front of Eliot's eyes, still grinning.

Eliot just stares at him in confusion, and more than a little impatience.

“Just trust me,” Gypsy says, dipping his hand into the jar. It comes back shiny and wet, and only confuses Eliot more.

And then Gypsy's hand disappears behind him, between his spread legs. He moans a little at whatever he's doing, and Eliot can't contain his curiosity anymore. He sits up, jostling Gypsy in the process, making the other man catch his breath. But he uses one hand to brace himself on Eliot's shoulder while the other one works.

Eliot realizes then that Gypsy fingers are not just behind him, they're _inside_ him, flexing and pushing in, inch by inch.

He's absolutely sure that it can't feel good.

Gypsy's little noises of pleasure give him some doubt, though.

“What...” he starts to ask, but Gypsy hushes him.

“Just trust me,” he says again, apparently satisfied with his work, because he pulls his fingers free and wipes them on the bed before pushing Eliot back into a laying position.

Eliot goes to question him again, but is cut off by Gypsy's mouth on his and his hand around his persistent erection.

Then Gypsy is lowering himself onto Eliot and coherent thought is lost because after a bit he's sheathed in Gyspy. He's actually _inside_ him, and he thinks the heat might just kill him, in the best way possible.

Just when he's sure it couldn't possibly get better, Gypsy _moves_ and Eliot damn near whimpers as he thrusts his hips up to meet him.

Gypsy slips, the hands on Eliot's chest losing purchase, but he catches himself on the bed and leans down to capture Eliot's mouth as they move.

He can tell that they're both so close, but they need a trigger. Using the strength and adrenalin pumping through him, he bucks up and flips them, counting it a miracle when they stay connected. Gypsy just rolls with it, hooking his legs around Eliot's back as he thrusts into him over and over.

Eliot buries his head against his lovers' neck, biting lightly, too far gone to kiss with any finesse.

“Get back here,” Gypsy says, tugging Eliot's hair to bring his mouth back to where he can reach.

Eliot arches at the sharp tug of pleasure-pain and crashes his lips back to Gypsy's, biting on his lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

“Come for me, El,” Gypsy whispers into his ear, nipping at the lobe.

He does, and it feels like heaven incarnate. Everything goes bright white around him and he's sure he's flying.

He hears Gypsy cry out distantly, and hopes his heaven is as good as this. And then, everything fades to black.

.

.

Eliot wakes up first, feeling sated and sore and altogether absolutely wonderful. He turns on his side and props his head up on one arm to watch Gypsy sleep.

He lies on his back, sound asleep, with a happy grin still playing on his lips.

Eliot brushes a wayward lock of wavy hair from Gypsy's face, tucking it behind his ear.

The other man turns into Eliot's touch and he freezes, not wanting to wake him.

“It's ok,” Gypsy murmurs, waking slowly, “You didn't wake me.”

“But I did knock you out,” Eliot can’t help but reply with a smirk.

Gypsy stretches languidly and pops his back.

“That you did, he laughs, “that you did. Hell, it was so good at the end I could swear I saw you glow. Crazy, right?”

After a shocked moment, Eliot forces a laugh, even as his mind is racing.

“Yeah, crazy.”

Luckily, Gypsy is too sleepy to notice the strange tone in his voice, and he yawns wide.

“Come here and go back to sleep,” he demands, tugging Eliot to curl into him.

Eliot knows they should clean up, possibly even do something productive with the day, but Gypsy's shoulder is comfortable and the bed is warm. And really, productivity is overrated.

Tossing an arm around Gypsy's waist, he lets himself be lulled back to sleep.

.

.

The next few months move impossibly faster than the previous six, and before Eliot knows it, he's been in the forest for nine months, and he's barely thought of his past life at all.

He spends his days with the others as usual. He spends his nights with Gyspy, learning every inch of his body in the dark.

Parker and Hardison go away sometimes for days on end, and Eliot knows they're off on some complicated heist that he would have no patience for. He never wishes he was going with him.

But he always misses them, and worries until they come home.

.

“I'm sure they're fine,” Gypsy says for the tenth time, only sounding mildly annoyed as he traces idle patterns into Eliot's chest.

They're in bed, Gypsy resting on Eliot's outstretched arm, while his lover frets.

“It's been a week, is all,” he sighs, “They're never gone this long!”

Suddenly, Gypsy understands.

“You really do love them, don't you? Both of them.”

“I...” Eliot is caught off-guard. He's happy with Gypsy, knows the other man loves him, and he loves him in turn. But he doesn't think he'll ever stop loving Parker and Hardison more than anything.

“They're my best friends,” he says, instead, “I'm just worried.”

“Just try to relax, baby, please,” Gypsy says, nuzzling Eliot's cheek with his nose.

Eliot swats at him but smiles all the same.

“I'm not a baby.”

“It's just a term of affection, asshole,” Gypsy laughs, moving to nip at Eliot's shoulder.

“Come on, El,” he says, “be mine. Be my baby.”

“I am,” Eliot replies, threading his fingers through Gypsy's, where they rest against his heart.

And when he closes his eyes, he almost believes it.

.

.

“Eliot!”

The frantic yell snaps Eliot to attention, startling both himself and Gypsy, who had been strumming on his guitar. Eliot had been watching, waiting for his turn. Gypsy threatens to steal him his very own guitar all the time, maybe like the one he left back in the tower, but Eliot prefers this one. Gypsy doesn't mind.

“Eliot!”

The cry comes again and Eliot scrambles to his feet, long hair a mess around him since it's been over a week without Parker braiding it.

They run outside in time to see a panicked looking Hardison holding a very pale Parker in his arms. Even from the distance, Eliot can see she's in a bad way.

He runs to them.

“What happened?” he demands, scooping Parker up from Hardison, who looks about ready to fall over with exhaustion and worry.

“Poison, I think,” Hardison says, following Eliot and Gypsy as they make their way into Hardison and Parker's tent.

Eliot lays her down on the bed, trying not to think about how cool her skin has gone.

“Fix her, Eliot, please,” Hardison begs, before collapsing beside Parker on the bed.

He manages to stay conscious, but barely. He grips Parker's hand and pulls it to his mouth, kissing her palm.

“Should I get the doctor?” Gypsy asks, unsure of exactly what's going on.

Eliot shakes his head and gestures for him to come closer. When he does, Eliot grabs his hand and gives it a squeeze.

“Listen to me, baby. I need you to trust me.”

“I do,” he says without hesitation.

Eliot nods, “Good. Now stand back.”

He does and Eliot prepares himself to use his magic for the first time in months.

Humming, he drapes his hair across Parker, covering almost all of her.

He sings. The words flow on their own, he barely hears himself, he just wills the magic to work, and to work fast.

The room is aglow from the light of his hair, but Parker is still unresponsive. Hardison is silently crying, too tired to do much else.

“Come on, come on,” Eliot says, singing the words again.

Gypsy steps up behind him, steadying him as he starts to sway.

“I don't think I'm strong enough to heal her,” Eliot says as the glow starts to fade.

Gypsy just holds on tighter, pressing his chest into Eliot's back.

“You are. Come on, I'll sing with you.”

And he does. Eliot doesn't stop to wonder how he knows the words, he just prays it works.

With Gypsy wrapped around him, it feels like his power is ten-fold, and it surges through him like it's only done once before.

When he saved Hardison.

“There we go,” Gypsy whispers when the song ends.

Parker is lit up like an angel, bathed in glowing white, but still, she doesn't move.

Finally, the light fades and she looks like their Parker again, a healthy glow in her cheeks.

She opens her eyes and looks confused for a moment, but Hardison is already pulling her into his arms. She rolls willingly, wrapping herself around him and holding on tight.

“I thought you left me,” she confesses, crying into his shoulder, “The poison gave me hallucinations. I saw you drop me in the river and walk away. I could feel the water.”

Hardison just holds her tighter.

“I would never leave you, you hear me? Ever.”

“He ran all the way back, carrying you,” Eliot says from where he stands still resting against Gypsy.

“Eliot!” Parker says, as if just realizing he was there, “Come here!”

He hesitates and Gypsy gives him a little push. He kneels on the bed, but Parker his having none of it. She pulls him down with her newly-restored strength and curls against his chest, hugging him so tight he worries she might crack a rib.

Hardison, still so tired, reaches across Parker and rests his hand on Eliot's hip, just holding on.

Eliot closes his eyes for just a moment, letting relief wash over him.

“I told you guys to stop trying to get killed, remember?”

They don’t answer, just burrow closer still.

The hollow place in him dissipates as his friends' warmth seeps into him.

“I'll let you guys rest,” Gypsy says, moving backwards to the exit.

Eliot opens his eyes and looks up at him, unable to read his expression for the first time. “Just give me five minutes,” he says softly.

Gypsy smiles, but it's more sad than anything. Eliot's never seen the look before and it just about breaks his heart in two.

“I'll be at the lake for a while,” he says, “come find me when you're ready.”

Eliot promises to only be a few minutes, and Gypsy tries to believe him.

But he knows he won't see Eliot that night.

.

.

It's early the next afternoon when Eliot finds him. He's sitting on the grass by the lake, feet in the water and guitar on his lap. He's not playing though; he's just holding it to himself like a security blanket and staring off into space.

“Hey,” Eliot says, coming to sit beside him.

Gypsy looks at him and Eliot doesn't fail to notice that his eyes are red. He pulls the guitar off and sets it safely on the grass behind him. He pulls his feet up and shakes them dry before crossing his legs as he turns to face Eliot.

Eliot moves to kiss him, but he turns his face.

“Baby,” Eliot pleads, “Look at me, please.”

He does look, then, looks right into Eliot's crystalline eyes, and he almost changes his mind. It would be so easy to do it. He could pretend. Except for how he knows that he can't.

“I only stayed here for you,” is what comes out of his mouth, much to his surprise.

Eliot looks just as confused.

“I don't stay anywhere for more than a few nights,” Gypsy says, “I just don't do it.”

“My gypsy,” Eliot says, fondly.

“I am,” he sighs sadly, “I am yours. But you aren't mine.”

Eliot wants to deny it, he wants more than anything for it to be true, but he knows it would be a lie.

“I love you,” he says, because he knows for certain that much is true.

Gypsy's eyes soften a bit at that.

“I know,” he says, “But I know that you're in love with them. And you'll never be happy unless you're with them.”

“I am happy! I'm happy with you!” Eliot says, “You make me happy.”

“But I'm not enough,” Gypsy says, his voice cracking on the last word.

They sit in silence for a long few minutes, gathering themselves and their thoughts.

“I'm sorry,” Eliot says, finally, “I really am.”

“I am too,” he replies, smiling slightly, “God, I'm gonna miss you.”

“Then don't go,” Eliot says, “This is your home. Don't leave just because of me.”

Gypsy laughs and shakes his head fondly.

“Like I said, baby, you were the only reason I stayed.”

“I'll miss you, too,” Eliot says.

Gypsy tries for a weak smile, but it mostly comes off as a grimace.  He stands, pulling the guitar up and strapping it against his back again.

“When are you leaving?” Eliot asks, determined to spend as much time with him while he still can.

Gypsy must see his intent in his face, because he looks away suddenly.

“I'm already packed,” he says, hating how his voice cracks again.

The next moment, Eliot's wrapped around him, arms around his neck, hugging him tighter than he's ever been hugged.

He closes his eyes and wraps his arms around Eliot, memorizing exactly how it feels, knowing it will be the last time.

“I'm sorry,” Eliot whispers again, before pulling back slightly and pressing his lips against Gypsy's cheek.

He turns, kissing Eliot soundly, tears running down his face.

“I love you,” he says again, and then pulls away with effort.

Eliot watches him go, and even though the word was never spoken, he knows it was goodbye.

.

.

Eliot blames Gypsy leaving for the return of his dreams. Without his solid warmth anchoring him, he tosses and turns all night, the suppressed thoughts of stars running through his mind.

He wakes up exhausted each day, but says nothing. Instead, he fills journal after journal with paintings. All of the same shape, the same star he's dreamed of since he can remember. But it's never been like this, it's never been niggling at the back of his mind every second of the day.

He knows he's missing something important, but he just can't put it all together.

So he paints and paints, and the weeks go by.

.

.

Hardison goes off with some of the other men for a trip one week, leaving a lonely Parker back at the camp.  The first few days, she's fine. But the fourth day, she drives everyone in the camp crazy with bouncing between them all, interrupting everything with questions and offers of help. They're all fond of her, but they have work to do, as well.

She plays with the children for a few hours, running around. But even they exhaust before her and by bedtime, she finds herself alone.

.

.

Eliot is nearly asleep when he senses somebody watching him. Opening his eyes, he sees Parker standing in his doorway, looking uncharacteristically hesitant.

“What is it?” he asks, not bothering to sit up unless he has to.

“I can't sleep,” she admits, fidgeting visibly.

And suddenly Eliot gets it.

“You miss Hardison,” he says.

She nods and shrugs, embarrassed.

“It's hard to sleep without him,” she says, eying the bed hopefully.

Eliot rolls his eyes and pulls back the covers from the empty side of the bed.

“Well, come on,” he says, “I'm tired.”

She grins and leaps into the bed, curling herself around Eliot almost immediately.

Eliot breathes deep, taking in her scent, and wraps her in his arms.

“Better?” he asks.

Parker hmm's happily and nods, “Goodnight, Goldy.”

“Night,” Eliot says, knowing sleep won't come easy tonight.

.

.

Eliot wakes up pressed between two warm bodies and panics for a moment, but relaxes when he realizes it's Hardison against his back.

His shifting wakes the other man up, and he blinks sleepily at Eliot.

“Hey,” he says, smiling.

“You're back early,” Eliot says.

“I missed you guys,” Hardison shrugs, “The trip was boring, anyway.”

“She was crazy without you,” Eliot laughs softly, gesturing to the still sleeping Parker with his shoulder.

“She's always crazy,” Hardison says, looking at the girl fondly, “That's why we love her, right?”

“Right,” Eliot says, automatically, before cringing as he realizes what he's said.

His horror must show because Hardison just laughs.

“You're kind of an idiot, you know,” he says.

Eliot just furrows his brow in confusion and mild offense.

“We know you love us,” Hardison whispers, “That you're in love with us. You're the only one that can't seem to admit it.”

To say he's shocked would be an understatement.

“I am,” he admits, softly, and a part of him feels lighter for saying it.

But that other part rears its ugly head.

“But you don't love me like that.”

Hardison shakes his head in disbelief and leans into him, kissing him deeply, morning breath and all.

“Idiot,” he repeats, “How can you not know we love you? We've been inviting you into our bed for nearly a year.”

“That's just sex,” Eliot counters, “I know you both are free to sleep with whoever you want. It doesn't mean anything.”

“But we don't.”

Eliot turns his head to look at Parker, who has apparently awoken and jumped right into the conversation.

“What?” he asks. It is just far too early for all this emotional coherency.

“When is the last time you saw either one of us with somebody else?” she asks, giving him the same fondly dumbfounded look that Hardison had.

Eliot thinks back and comes up with nothing.

“Exactly,” Hardison says, “Just because we can, doesn't mean we do. We want you.”

“We love you,” Parker says, “We love you the way we love each other.”

That makes Eliot grin outright, because he's never seen a love so beautiful as what he sees between them.

“Why didn't you say anything sooner?” Eliot asks, leaning against Hardison while Parker repositions herself across his chest.

“You seemed so happy with Gypsy,” Parker says, yawning, “We didn't want to ruin it.”

Eliot laughs at the insanity of it all.

“We're all kind of idiots.”

Parker just giggles and snuggles closer, already falling back to sleep.

Hardison thinks about it for a minute before responding, as he tucks them all under the blanket.

“Then I guess we're meant to be.”

Eliot can't imagine how he would ever argue.

.

.

“One month,” she says aloud, as the horse carries her down the long road. “One month, and I'm sure that wretched child will go to the castle. And I'll make sure he never leaves my sight again.”

The horse brays, feeling immensely sorry for the boy when he's found.

It's been a long year of captivity under the witch's magic. After their initial search was hampered by rain washing away the scent, his new master formulated a different plan. She had gone calm, but it did little to soothe his frayed nerves.

She could wait, she'd said to him, sounding more than a little deranged. She could wait, and he would come. He wouldn't be able to resist.

Sympathy flares up again, and he finds himself hoping that she never ever finds the boy she's looking for.

.

.

Eliot wakes up moaning, hands instinctively going to grip Parker's hair as she bobs her mouth on him.

Hardison chuckles from beside him, looking well sated already.

“Best girlfriend ever, right?”

She wakes him up at least twice a week like this, yet Eliot is pleasantly surprised every time.

“Ever,” he agrees, moaning again as she does the twisty-flick thing he loves so much.

Parker pulls off him with a slick POP and grins up.

“Oh good, you're up!” she says.

He just stares at her, letting the double entendre speak for itself.

She just smirks and crawls up his body, sinking down onto him in one smooth move.

“Fuck!” Eliot curses as she flexes around him.

From beside them, Hardison makes a little needy noise, tugging himself loosely.

“Get up here,” Eliot says, reaching blindly for the other man.

Hardison shifts so he's got one long leg on either side of Eliot, knees pressed against the other man's shoulders.

It's an awkward position, but it works. Eliot swallows him down with little effort, and for one moment, Hardison is immensely grateful for everything that Gypsy taught his boyfriend.

They're all a hairsbreadth away, and Parker cries out.

“Hum, Goldy, hum!”

Eliot rolls his eyes but hums around Hardison anyway, filling them all with shockwaves of pleasure.

Parker shifts a little and keens when Eliot hits just the right spot, triggering her orgasm.

It sets Eliot off and he comes, entire body glowing with the pleasure. Hardison follows a second later, and then they all collapse into a pile of sweaty, sated, limbs.

“Magic hair,” Hardison sighs happily, petting the still fading glow of Eliot's loose hair.

“You just keep me around for my hair,” Eliot grumbles, but he knows it's not true.

“Flowing locks of sexual power,” Parker says, in all seriousness.

Eliot just gapes at her.

“Never say that again,” he begs, “Please.”

“But it is!” she says, “I've never felt anything like that before you. You're magic, Elly.”

“And here we thought the hair just healed people,” Hardison says, yawning.

Eliot says nothing, enjoying the post-coital come down snug between his two lovers.

“But we'd love you even without the magic, you know,” Parker says, surprisingly serious.

Eliot grins because he does know. He doesn't doubt them, not anymore.

But it's always nice to hear.

.

.

Two weeks before Eliot's birthday, Gypsy reappears in the forest. One moment, Eliot is standing with Parker, discussing the best way to plant the little vegetable garden they're planning, and the next he's staring at someone he never thought he'd see again.

Gypsy hasn't seen him yet, though, or at least hasn't acknowledged him. He's speaking quietly to Susan, who is grinning wisely.

Finally he straightens up and turns, feeling Eliot's stare on him. With an unreadable expression, he makes his way to Eliot.

Parker gives his waist a quick squeeze and tells him she'll give them some time to talk. Eliot knows she'll only go as far as the nearest tent she can eavesdrop in, but he's ok with that.

.

.

He swallows down against the lump in his throat as Gypsy approaches. But he knows he can do this. He's not the same cowardly boy he was nearly a year ago.

But he's reminded that for all he's changed, his heart remains the same, and he still cringes at the memory of Gypsy's face as he walked away.

He doesn't look angry, at least, and that gives Eliot some hope.

Before he can even open his mouth to say hello, Gypsy is hugging him tight, not caring that everyone around them is watching with interest.

Eliot stiffens for a second, but then relaxes against him, returning the hug. Right and wrong and who's to blame don't matter in this moment, he's just so happy to see him again.

“I missed you,” Gypsy says, before finally pulling away.

Eliot grins at him, not realizing how much he really had missed him until now.

“It is really good to see you. I thought I'd never see you again.”

Gypsy shrugs, “It's sort of a long story, but I realized this is home. Even if I don't have you.”

“I'm just glad you didn't punch me in the face,” Eliot laughs, “I would have deserved it.”

“Probably,” Gypsy agrees, “But I'm not angry at you anymore.”

Eliot studies him for a moment before speaking.

“You look really happy, baby,” he says, before he can stop the nickname from coming out.

Gypsy just smirks and doesn't make it an issue.

“I am happy. And you look pretty damn happy yourself, actually.”

Eliot blushes but grins anyway, “Yeah. I finally figured it out. Well, Hardison made me see, and I finally accepted it.”

Gypsy nods.

“Come on, let's go to the lake, we have some catching up to do, and all these eyes are starting to make me antsy.”

Eliot sends the nearest group of onlookers a glare and nods, leading the way to the secluded lake.

.

“This water never freezes,” Gypsy says, as if it's the first time the thought has occurred to him.

“It's summer,” Eliot says, wrinkling his nose in confusion.

“No,” Gypsy says, “I mean, it never freezes. I was here in the dead of winter and it never froze. It doesn't make any sense.”

“They say the forest is enchanted,” Eliot says, shrugging, “Stands to reason the lake would be, too.”

“I met this girl,” Gypsy says, throwing Eliot off with the subject change.

They're sitting on the grass, dangling their bare feet into the water. It's a bizarre sort of déjà vu for Eliot, but it doesn't feel wrong.

“Oh?” Eliot says, unsure of how he's supposed to react to this news.

Gypsy laughs, remembering.

“It wasn't even a week after I left. I ended up in the castle village, of all places. I went into the tavern to drink until I passed out, and there she was.”

Eliot's chest constricts a little at that, knowing it's his fault that Gypsy had been so miserable.

The other man just gives him a fond look before continuing.

“She was already pretty gone when I got there, sitting all by herself at the bar, in her wedding dress.”

“Wedding dress?” Eliot asks, eyes going wide.

“Mhm,” Gypsy says, “Her 'damn dirty no good rat bastard' fiancé left her at the altar. Ran away with her cousin, if you can believe it.”

“I'm not sure I can,” Eliot says, laughing.

“Anyway,” Gypsy says, “There she was, this tiny, angry, shockingly beautiful girl. She took one look at me and held out her bottle.”

Eliot snorts at that and Gypsy pauses to laugh along for a moment.

“I don't remember too much after that, but next think I know, I wake up in bed with a killer hangover and a gorgeous redhead.”

“What's her name?” Eliot asks, because he finds that he just needs to know.

“Elena,” Gypsy says, and his voice softens.

“So, what happened?” Eliot asks, needing to know how it all ends.

Gypsy's eyes go a little sad at that, but he continues.

“Two weeks. We had this wonderful, amazing, absolutely insane, two weeks together. She's like me, a gypsy heart. After those two weeks, I realized I didn't want to move on. She realized she had to. So, she left.”

“Oh, baby,” Eliot says, sympathetic.

“It's ok,” Gypsy says, “I think I could have loved her, but her leaving was the best thing that could have happened.”

“Why?”

“Because it made me realize that I didn't _want_ to run anymore. I didn't want to keep moving on. I just wanted to go home. So, after a few weeks of indecision and wandering around, I left her a note, just in case, and I came back here.”

Eliot grins, “Welcome home.”

.

.

The first few days are awkward with Gypsy back in the village, but soon enough it fades, and the tension melts away.

Eliot and Hardison are washing some clothes out in the river when Gypsy comes over, intending to do the same to the bundle of clothes in his hands.

Hardison gestures, “Come on, man, we won't bite.”

Gypsy can't help but smirk.

“He's bitten me plenty of times.”

Eliot just groans, thankful that Hardison isn't the jealous, petty, type.

Gypsy just laughs and kneels down beside them, pulling out clothes and scrubbing them in the water.

Something catches Eliot's eye and he grabs Gypsy's wet shirt from the water before he even realizes what he's doing.

“What the hell, man?” Gypsy says, more confused than upset.

Eliot's just staring at the shirt, tracing his fingers over the emblem across the chest.

“This symbol,” he says, finally, “What does it mean?”

Gypsy stares at him strangely, but answers anyway.

“It's the royal family's emblem,” he explains, “I got the shirt when I was in the castle village. They were preparing for the lost prince's ceremony.”

“What is that?” Hardison asks, interested.

Gypsy addresses them both.

“Every year, the royal family sends out thousands of lanterns into the sky, symbols that they'll never stop looking for their lost prince.”

“Who is the lost prince?” Eliot asks.

“Well,” Gypsy explains, much like the old woman who told him the tale did, “Many years ago, the king and queen had a son that they loved dearly. When he wasn't even a year old, he was stolen right from his crib. They searched high and low, obviously, but they couldn't find him. The popular theory is that the boy was hidden by black magic. But the family has never given up. Every year, they send out the lanterns, just hoping.”

“The floating lights,” Eliot says, eyes wide as he runs his fingers over the star shape on Gypsy's shirt.

.

“Shit,” Hardison says, as he realizes what's going on.

“What is it?” Gypsy says, but Eliot is already up and running, calling for Parker.

They follow him as fast as they can.

“What's wrong, Goldy?” Parker says as Eliot reaches her, eyes wild.

“Why were you running from the guards?”

Parker is, understandably, confused. “Huh?”

“A year ago,” Eliot says, almost frantically, “You were hiding from the guards, because you took something. Something that was in your bag. I never thought about it before now, because it didn't matter. But I need to know... what did you steal from the castle?”

Parker is silent for a long moment, taking in the crazed expression on Eliot's face and the matching worried looks on Gypsy and Hardison's.

“It was just a crown,” she says, “Wasn't even worth all that much.”

“Whose crown was it?” Eliot asks.

“The prince, I think,” Parker says, getting slightly worried at the look in Eliot's eyes. “But it was meant for a child, nobody wanted it.”

Eliot stands up straighter suddenly, focusing intently on Parker.

“You still have it?”

.

.

After he's calmed down a little, Eliot follows Parker into their tent with Hardison right behind him. Gypsy, realizing he was out of his league, had begged off, leaving the trio to their business.

“Where is it?” Eliot asks, mostly wondering where she could have hidden it that they wouldn't have seen than.

“Here,” Parker says, bending down to grab the little crown from where it had been resting on her stuffed bunny's head.

She hands it to Eliot and looks at it closely, running his fingers over every inch. He closes his eyes and it's like a dam breaking. Everything floods into him, bits and pieces of sound and flashes of sight, until it's so overwhelming that his knees buckle and he falls to kneel on the ground.

“What the hell is going on?” Parker asks, moving to kneel before him, tugging Hardison down to do the same.

Eliot looks at them with a clarity in his eyes they've never seen.

“I'm the lost prince.”

.

.

They argued, of course, at the insanity of Eliot's claim. But he was adamant, showing them the journals of paintings, telling them about all his dreams, finally. When it came down to it, they loved him and trusted him, and agreed to travel to the castle with him.

.

They reach the castle village grounds the day before Eliot's birthday. The journey had gone almost eerily smooth, but Eliot wasn't questioning his luck.

“Let's camp here,” Parker says, watching the sun set. “A few more hours tomorrow and we'll be at the castle. You'll want to be rested for that.”

Eliot wants to argue, wants to just run to the castle, but he knows she's right.

Before they can settle down, though, they are interrupted by the distinctive sound of horse hooves coming their way.

The horse reaches them and brays loudly, giving them a wide-eyed look.

“Not this time, horse!” Parker yells out, brandishing her dagger and standing her ground. “I don't know why you want us so bad, but you can't have us!”

The horse whines, low, but doesn't charge. He just stands there, clearly trying to figure out how to convey what he needs to.

“Wait,” Eliot says, getting a good look at the horse's eyes, “I don't think he wants to hurt us.”

“That's the horse that tried to kill us a year ago!” Hardison insists.

“I know,” Eliot says, “I know. But just trust me.”

He walks to the horse and studies his gear.

“Nate,” he says, reading the metal tag, “Your name is Nate?”

The horse makes a sound of agreement, nodding his giant head.

“Good boy, Nate,” Eliot says, petting his mane softly. “You don't want to hurt us, do you?”

Nate shakes his head rapidly from side to side.

“Then why are you here?” Eliot ponders aloud, gesturing for the others that it's safe to approach the horse.

Nate looks behind him and then back to Eliot, and then repeats the motion.

“You're trying to warn us, aren't you?” Eliot asks, as it clicks into place.

Nate nods frantically.

“He's too late.”

.

.

The voice comes from the cloaked figure that's just emerged from the forest. Eliot would recognize that icy tone anywhere.

“Mother,” he says, spitting the lying word.

“Darling,” she says, “Come give Mummy a kiss, won't you?”

“You are not my mother!' Eliot yells, rage bubbling up inside him. She looks good, better than Eliot expected for being away from his healing for so long. But the way her skin practically buzzes leaves no doubt that dark magic courses through her veins, keeping her healthy.

Sophie laughs, her voice somehow booming all around them.

“So, you've figured it out, then. Maybe you're smarter than I gave you credit for.”

“You don't control me anymore,” Eliot says, not backing down from the woman he used to fear so much.

“I know you're upset with Mummy,” she says, coming closer until she's only half a foot from him, “But I also know you'll do exactly as I say.”

Eliot growls out his words, “I'll do absolutely nothing for you. Ever. Again.”

“That's where you're wrong, darling,” she says, with a sinister smile, “But I have something that you don't.”

Eliot reaches blindly for his lovers' hands, taking strength in their silent support.

“What could you possibly have that I don't?”

Sophie's eyes go colder than he's ever seen, and a chill runs through his body as she replies.

“Leverage.”

.

Before he can question it, she's tossing off the cloak and whispering words he's never heard before, and is certain are not English. She thrusts out her arms and it feels like electricity crackles around them. Parker and Hardison thud to the ground on either side of him, dead still.

“No!” Eliot cries out, charging at her, “You don't get to hurt them!”

Sophie bares her teeth in a growl and wraps Eliot into a tight embrace as he hits her.

“I knew you would do that, you stupid boy!” she says, laughing as she binds him tightly with rope.

Eliot struggles against his bonds, trying to stay on his feet.

“Don't bother,” Sophie says, “The rope is enchanted. An ogre couldn't escape it.”

Nate takes the moment to charge at the witch, but she merely holds up a hand and he freezes in place, unable to move against her magic.

Parker's groan of pain makes Eliot stop struggling, and he looks on helplessly.

“This particular curse kills slowly,” Sophie explains calmly, “It could take hours for them to die. Long, torturous, hours.”

“Please,” Eliot begs, “Please, let me heal them. Let me heal them and I'll stay with you forever! I promise. You can chain me to the wall for all I care. Just let me save them!”

Sophie smirks. Her plan is working better than she could even imagine.

“Very well,” she says, “But if you try anything, I'll kill them on the spot.”

Eliot nods quickly.

She waves her hand and his bonds are released. He stumbles to the ground, crawling to where Parker and Hardison lie.

“Just hold on,” he whispers to them, “Just hold on, I've got you.”

He reaches for Hardison but the man shakes his head.

“Parker first,” he insists, “Just in case you can only fix one of us.”

Eliot wants to argue, but he knows Hardison would never forgive him if Parker died.

“Come on baby,” he says to Parker, who's thrashing in pain, “Everything will be fine.”

Parker goes still suddenly, and Eliot catches his breath, hoping he's not too late.

But she's looking up at him, with her big hazel eyes, holding on. Eliot drapes his braid across her chest and starts to sing. She stops him momentarily, to kiss him. She's crying, and Eliot has never wanted to murder his “mother” more than in this moment. He kisses her and whispers to just hold on a little while longer. He bows his head and begins to sing again.

.

He's not sure exactly how it happens, but he feels Parker grab his braid and pull, and before he can stop her, she's reaching up with her other hand and slicing through his hair with the blade she'd pulled from her waist.

“No!” he cries out, but it's too late.

Parker collapses to the ground, still alive but barely. Hardison is in the same condition.

Eliot stands, watching his hair fall to the ground, turning to ash around him.

He turns to Sophie, angrier than he's ever been in his whole life.

“Fix them! You better fucking fix them this instant!”

Sophie tries to sneer, but she starts to cough. All the magic she's done in the past year is taking its toll, and she needs to be healed. The link she’s held to Eliot’s magic is gone.

“I can't fix anything now,” she says, somehow still sounding righteous.

Eliot watches in horror as she begins to age before his eyes. Her hair turns white and she grows thin and pale, shrinking as she hunches over.

Nate, no longer held back by her magic, charges again, hitting her with the full force of his body.

She turns to dust at the impact, her ashes lost to the wind.

.

Eliot stares for a moment, trying to comprehend what's just happened. But he doesn't think long, because the people he loves are dying.

“Why would you do this?” he asks Parker, kneeling between her and Hardison.

She smiles up at him, no longer in pain now that Sophie is dead.

But the damage is done, and they're still dying.

“You needed to be free,” she says, growing paler by the second.

“No,” Eliot cries, “No, I need you both, I need you! You can't die!”

He presses a hand to both of their chests, gripping them tight.

“You aren't dying, not like this! When we die, we'll be old and cranky and all together. You hear me?”

Hardison grasps the hand on his chest and smiles.

“Love you.”

Parker repeats the sentiment and Eliot begins crying freely.

“I love you,” he whispers, and he begins to hum, just hoping that it will work.

.

He closes his eyes and lets the memories of the last year wash over him. From the very first time he met Parker, to the day Hardison made him understand how much they loved him. It all blends into a blur of colors and whispers until all he can see is strong arms and hazel eyes and everything he ever wanted. It's all tied up in them.

The warmth of their love, and his love for them, rises up and out of his chest, and the night lights up around them as Eliot begins to glow.

He lights up like a shining star, and his hands press the light into his lovers from where his hands hold on.

For a moment, all that exists is silent white, and Eliot's half sure he's killed himself.

But then he feels Parker tackle him and he knows he can't be dead.

His vision returns just in time to catch her and hold her tight, letting her pull him to his feet. As soon as they stand, Hardison wraps both of them up, and threatens to never let go.

When they finally pull apart, Parker looks at him in wonder and reaches to run her fingers through his much shorter hair. It brushes the back of his neck now, not short, but nowhere near as long as it used to be.

“I like the brown,” she says, smiling, “It suits you.”

“That's what you said about the blonde,” Eliot replies, teasingly.

Parker shrugs, “Doesn't matter. You're safe. We're all safe. And that bitch is dead.”

“That's all that matters,” Hardison says, pulling Eliot to lean against him so he can kiss his neck.

“So, what do we do now?” Eliot says, still having a hard time believing that it's really and truly over.

Parker grins wide. “We get some rest,” she says, “And in the morning, we go and meet your real family.”

“You two are my real family,” Eliot insists, but he knows what she meant.

“Yeah, yeah, we love you, too,” Hardison says, hugging them both again.

.

They head to bed, knowing that tomorrow is the start of an entirely new world.

.

.

Epilogue – One Year and One Day Later

.

.

“Come on, Lena!”

Parker runs past Hardison and Gypsy in a blur, tugging along the amused redhead.

“The girl acts like she's never been to the castle before,” Gypsy says to Hardison, laughing.

Hardison shakes his head in fond exasperation, “She's just excited about all the fireworks. Sometimes she's very much a five year old.”

“Yeah, but you love her,” Gypsy teases.

Hardison's eyes go soft, “I really do.”

They walk towards the castle in comfortable silence until Gypsy speaks again.

“I think I'm going to ask Elena to marry me,” he says.

Hardison stops dead in his tracks.

“Seriously? Mr. 'never settles down, always on the next adventure, blah blah blah,' settling down?”

“You can just call me Gypsy, actually,” he replies, rolling his eyes.

Hardison pulls the man into a quick hug.

“I'm happy for you, really. She makes you happy.”

Gypsy smiles at the thought. “She really does. When she showed up, a few months after I came back, I thought I was hallucinating.”

“I'd probably hallucinate something that damn hot, too,” Hardison muses, moving away from Gypsy's predictable smack.

“Watch it,” he warns it, “That's my future wife you're talking about.”

“If she says yes,” Hardison teases, though he has no doubt that she will.

Gypsy just cuffs Hardison upside the head as they finally reach the castle doors.

.

“One year ago, today,” the King begins his speech, with one arm around Eliot's shoulder, the other around his wife’s waist, “My long lost son returned to me after nineteen years.”

He pauses for all the people in the large banquet hall to cheer and clap.

“Thank you,” he says, kind blue eyes sweeping over the crowd. “And now, every year on his birthday, instead of remembering the baby we lost, we celebrate the man we were gifted with!”

Cheers erupt again, nobody louder than Eliot's lovers and friends that stand a few feet away.

.

Long after everyone is full and danced out, Eliot sits between Parker and Hardison, exhausted but happy.

“How was your visit to the forest?” he asks them.

“Really good,” Parker says, “As much as I love it here, I really missed everyone there.”

“We'll have to visit more often,” Hardison says, moving to rest his head on Eliot's shoulder.

“Definitely,” Eliot agrees, content to just sit in silence with the man and woman that he loves.

“Aw, look at them,” Parker says, pointing to Gypsy and Elena, the only couple left dancing.

They sway together, barely moving, and it's doubtful that they even hear the music; they're so wrapped up in each other.

“He's gonna propose,” Hardison says, watching his friends fondly.

“About time,” Parker says.

Eliot chuckles and moves to stand.

“Come on, let's go to bed. I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted.”

Hardison yawns widely.

“I think that means yes,” Parker laughs, slipping a hand into each of her boys'.

.

Eliot casts a last glance at his dancing friends, smiling widely, before letting his lovers tug him away.

He's not sure about the afterlife, or forever, but he knows without doubt, that they'll live happily together for the rest of their lives. And truly, it's all he's ever wanted.

.

.

THE END.


End file.
